The Exclusive
by chasing-whatever's-out-there
Summary: Santana Lopez was not expecting to be one of nine celebrities called up to participate in a gameshow, especially if it was for something as ridiculously named as the 'Golden Lungs'. But when Sue Sylvester says jump, you ask if you can run laps as well. Maybe though, in retrospect, it isn't so bad. Because it means she gets a chance to talk to that hot blonde fitness show host.
1. The Golden What Now?

The email was short and sweet and, really, more a threat than anything else. Of course, when it came to Sue Slyvester, nothing less would do.

Still, she wonders, as she got her PA, Becky, to read it aloud for her for the fifth time, maybe she should be a bit nicer.

"And if you are not ready for my crew or put up a fight, may-"

"Becky? Change 'piranhas feast on the last of your rotten innards' to 'rabid, about to be euthanized, dogs' instead. I'm the spirit of giving today."

"Got it, boss."

* * *

Santana choked on her mouthful of cereal and milk, when she read the email on her phone. Spluttering, she called for help. "What the-Q!"

"What?" Her best friend yelled back from her spot on their living room couch, where she was channel-surfing. "I'm busy! So if you need me to find the salsa jar again-"

"No, you idiot!" Santana stomped through the kitchen, her phone in one hand, and her breakfast in the other. "This!"

"I don't know-whoa, did you spill all over yourself or something? Do I need to get you a bib?"

"Shut your pie hole, Fabgay. Focus on the problem."

"You mean it's not the fact that you have half-chewed cereal and milk dripping down your shirt?" Quinn was amused. Any chance to ridicule her roommate and best friend was a chance to be taken. The fiery Latina glared at her, her arm pulling back, and that was all the warning she got that she was going to toss her phone at her.

"Hey-watch it, San." The phone nearly slipped from her fingers, but Quinn managed to palm it in time. She glanced at it, and then back at Santana. "What's wrong?"

"That!"

"Your phone? You just got it; what's wrong with it?"

Santana rolled her eyes, finding it hard to find words to articulate the problem. Instead, she flapped her hands, hopping slightly from one foot to another, not caring that she probably looked a little ridiculous. She needed Quinn to read the email.

"Seriously, San, I don't know-" Quinn's annoyed remark stopped suddenly, as she began to read the email on the tiny screen before her, her eyes growing wide when she saw the letterhead.

'From the Office of Sue Sylvester.'

* * *

Around the country, nine more people got the same email.

Around the country, nine people alternately cursed and gaped.

* * *

"Shit, Q, what do you think this is all about?" Santana muttered, hoping her low voice wouldn't give away her nervousness. It was early morning, and the sun hadn't risen yet. Shadows played across the floor of their shared apartment, and Quinn sat next to her at the dining table, slightly slumped over, where she thought the cameras couldn't see her.

"I don't know, San." The blonde looked dazedly to the shy-looking brunette setting up a film camera next to the other two pointed at them. To Quinn, it was too big and looked like it belonged in some mad inventor's workshop, with lenses that size.

Santana, on the other hand, didn't seem too phased by it. It was comparably smaller to the ones they normally had on set. Instead, she was wondering if she could use the lens as a magnifier to burn a hole into someone's shirt when they weren't looking.

Small punishment for knocking on their house door this early in the morning.

"If you two would sign these release forms…" Santana noted that it wasn't the blonde that had crossed her arms sassily and declared their team of four to be people from Sylvester's show, come to set up. Santana took in the dark, mischievous eyes that seemed familiar, and the small smirk the man had at their confusion.

"Doesn't he look familiar?" She nudged Quinn, folding her arms across her chest. "The guy holding the boom mic, look up."

Quinn did as she was told, taking a minute due to her grogginess, before her eyes narrowed slightly. "Oh yeah, he does. Huh."

"The eyes and smile, right?" She was grasping at anything that would give them clues to what was going on. Maybe someone they knew set the entire thing up?

Seriously though, why was all this happening so early in the morning? Santana had been planning to sleep in today, what with her rare opportunity of a day off from filming.

Quinn, on the other hand, was a morning person anyway, but even she was slightly annoyed underneath her calm façade. Her morning run had had to be postponed, and she was seriously craving a cup of coffee. Still, it seemed rude to move, after the blonde had bustled into their house with a sweet smile and began to direct them to sit where they felt comfortable.

Santana sighed, as she looked down at the form she was holding, and then scowled. She got dressed slightly decently for this?

"Hey, people I don't know. Come here a sec." She ran her hand through her uncombed hair, her voice dipping dangerously. Her tone had Quinn straightening next to her, ready for whatever was about to come next. She recognised her friend's unspoken warning, and prepared herself to intervene, if necessary. "San?"

"Read the first line." Came the clipped reply, as the crew looked at each other, uncertain for the first time since they stepped in. They didn't like the tone the star was taking with them, but they couldn't _not_ follow her instructions. The Latina looked pissed.

Quinn watched as the film crew gathered together for a second, before assembling in a ragged circle around the table. She noted the way the brunette stood next to the familiar-ish guy, her doe eyes darting to meet his for a courage of some sorts; the way the blonde stood just the slightest bit taller and at the front of the ragged group, despite her small frame; the way the last Asian girl stood somewhat disconnectedly from the other three.

She returned her eyes to the papers they had received, doing as her best friend told-and she too felt her lips curl into a displeased pout. Her name had been filled in under the title of 'Person Appearing'; 'Glee (Gameshow)' under the name of the film; 'Sue Sylvester' under the name of the producer.

_"For good and valuable consideration, receipt and sufficiency of which I hereby acknowledge, I hereby irrevocably grant to Producer the right to photograph, film, videotape, or otherwise record me in connection with the Film…" _

The next piece of paper was a contract that released Sue Sylvester from any legal action for any injuries or anything else that pertained to the personal wellbeing of the undersigned.

She stopped reading. She had enough.

Santana glared at the ragtag group, piercing the blonde's gaze first. She was obviously the leader, or at least, by having the guts to be the one the half-asleep Santana had opened the door to first, had made herself a target.

"I'm giving you four one minute to tell us what the hell is going on. If I don't like your answer, I will go all Lima Heights on your asses. Yes, I'm talking specifically to you, Sassy Susie." She sealed the threat with a hard scowl aimed at the group, and all four bristled visibly.

"San, calm down." Despite her soft tone, Quinn looked equally as pissed, and Santana thanked god that she seemed to have come out of her caffeine deprived daze. "Maybe they should introduce themselves first."

Santana, who didn't really see the point of knowing the people she might have to wipe the floor with, rolled her eyes, but nodded anyway. It couldn't hurt.

The four exchanged glances again, and Santana bit her tongue to comment on it, as Petite Blonde spoke up. "We were sent here by Sue Sylvester."

"We know that, Honey Boo Boo." Quinn poked her harshly in the ribs, and Santana swallowed the yelp.

"Anyway," the woman continued, her green eyes flashing slightly. She had fire. Huh. "I'm Kitty. That's Jake, Marley and Kazatori."

"And what possessed you to come here, to our house, at ass-o' clock in the morning, setting up cameras without even giving us time to put on proper clothes?"

The brunette, Marley, spoke up now. She looked intimidated by Santana, and inwardly, Santana smirked. "Well, like she said. Sue Sylvester sent us here."

"That's actually a really good reason." Quinn muttered, leaning back in her seat. "What's Glee?"

"Glee's a gameshow." Jake was the one talking now, glancing between the two. Santana narrowed her eyes further, still trying to place him. Darting his eyes away, he shoved his hands into his pockets, his thumbs out. "And before you asked, we don't know anything about it too. We just met this morning, in the parking lot. The email told us to be here, and said that we'd know more later on, when they contact us. We're supposed to film continuously though. So…that's why the release forms."

Santana sucked her lips into her mouth, sharing a look with Quinn, wordlessly asking if they should trust them. Her roommate shrugged, exhaling again. Deciding to take matters into her own hands, Santana stood, the chair scraping noisily.

"If Sylvester's putting me on a gameshow without telling me, my agent is begging for a call, and Emma probably is too, Q. Now, if you'll excuse me," Santana began to head towards her room, when Marley stepped in front of her, gulping loudly when Santana glared at her.

"I, uh. We're not supposed to let you out of our sight." Marley cleared her throat, licking her lips and trying not to shrivel in the face of the Latina's anger.

Something in Santana softened-and if anyone asked, she would deny it-and she smirked slightly. "Calm down, Rachel Berry-ish. I'm just going to change-if I'm appearing on television, I will not be in my robe, despite it being silk and my boobs looking phenomenal in it. I'll be back to make coffee for all you trespassers, so cool your heels for a while. If anything comes, Q can deal with it. The dragon probably needs someone to yell at to wake up, anyway."

"Shut up, Lespez."

"You're welcome, Fabgay."

* * *

Later, when the sun had actually begun to rise, and the film crew had been sitting in their living room for approximately two hours (or long enough for Santana to decide that she could tolerate Marley and maybe Jake and Ambiguous Asian-the blonde gave her a bad feeling no matter how much she smiled at her and Quinn), Santana's phone rang.

_'Blocked Number'_

"If that wasn't foreboding…" She breathed to herself, setting her coffee mug onto the glass coffee table. She placed her phone next to it, as the crew scrambled up to their positions behind the cameras, leaving Quinn and her on the sofa, a smaller replica of the bigger film cameras settled directly in front of them both.

"The tape's been rolling. Slate." Kitty announced, pushing the Japanese girl in front of the cameras, clutching a clap board in her hands. Said Asian (Santana really couldn't remember her name) announced the beginning of actual filming, and then scuttled back to her spot behind the B roll camera. "You can pick up the call now, I guess."

Santana stared apprehensively at the still ringing device, signalling that Quinn should pick it up.

"Why me?"

"I don't want to talk to Sylvester!"

"Oh for crying out-here." Quinn rolled her eyes, her earlier irritation only softened slightly by the coffee. "Hello?"

There was silence for a moment, as Quinn tapped it again, putting it on speaker. Everyone in the room listened closely.

"That doesn't sound like Santana Lopez. So it must be Quinn Fabray!" The voice filtered through the speakers of Santana's phone, and it took her a minute to place it.

"Mercedes Jones?" Santana was incredulous. Why the hell was her friend calling her now? "Aretha, I love you and all, but we're kinda waiting for an important call."

"I _am_ the call, Satan. Now reassure me that you haven't somehow murdered every idiot that knocked on your door this morning."

Bewildered, she glanced at the crew, and spoke back into the receiver. "They're all breathing. We even made them coffee."

"_You_ did? Admit it, it was Quinn." Before she could protest, Mercedes kept going, her smile translating even though it was a phone call. "Anyway, so my mama can sleep soundly tonight, Quinn, tell me that _you_ haven't killed them."

"Hey 'Cedes. No, I haven't. But why are you calling?" Quinn had met the black girl a couple of times, through Santana, and they got along well, but she had no idea why the talkshow host was calling them this morning.

"Relax your pretty nerves, Quinn. Are they filming now?"

"Yeah. We've had a camera rolling ever since they arrived." Santana was still pretty much puzzling over the meaning of her call. Then she got it.

"Holy shit, 'Cedes. You set this up, didn't you? You volunteered us for this show." The accusation was clear, but Mercedes only laughed.

"You too, Santana. Chill. But you're right. I did set the show up; pitched it to the higher-ups. And now, you two and eight other contestants are in the running for the Golden Lungs!"

"The what?"

"Eight?"

"Welcome to Glee, ladies. You'll hear from me later on; for now, bond with your crew members. They'll be following you everywhere. Santana, you're with Jake and Marley; Quinn, Kitty and Kazatori. Now, if you'll excuse me, this woman has to call the other contestants. Oh, and you two? Good luck. You're going to need it."

A dial tone. Mercedes had hung up.

"What in the actual fuck?" Santana proclaimed loudly.

Everyone in the room nodded.

* * *

A/N: So this is kinda something I've started based on a small idea. Nothing too heavy, nothing too intense. Give me some feedback, what you wanna see?

Also: for the readers of my other story, I haven't given up! I'm just writing out the chapters with the outlines I have already, so that when I return to updating, the breaks between won't be too long!

Reviews are always welcomed. Seriously, you guys.


	2. Seriously?

A/N: So, second update! The amount of follows for the first chapter blew me away! Thanks guys!

Keep dropping reviews, alright? Any questions, any thoughts. I'll do my best to answer and reply to them. Thanks!

Also: I've never been to L.A, so I'll try my best not to dwell on the environment-and there probably will be a lot of artistic liberties taken with the setting. Just sayin'. Hopefully, I don't mess up.

Disclaimer: Glee does not belong to me, last time I checked.

* * *

_"Welcome to Glee. As I've said on the phone, you and nine other contestants are competing for the Golden Lungs. Your first mission today is to get to the coordinates I'm giving you. Once there, someone will be on hand to pass you your task details. Good luck, and run hard."_

* * *

"Hey, we didn't get the same coordinates." Santana pointed out, as Quinn read through her own text. The blonde scrunched up her forehead, her mouth flattening into a line. Santana recognised the habit-Quinn would never fess up to it, but she usually did that when she was unsure of something. Afraid. Dark eyes narrowed, focusing on her best friend. "You alright?"

Quinn glanced at the camera in front of them, and then at the crew behind their cameras, mouthing noiselessly to each other about god-knew-what. Santana figured camera angles and such. Probably about the entire debacle as it were too. Whatever Mercedes and Sue Sylvester had cooked up for them, Santana wasn't too excited for finding out. Alone, they were already classifiably insane. Together?

No one would be safe. Especially not her. Considering her history with the two.

"I guess. This all seems really weird, you know?" Santana could only agree. But hey, it was Hollywood. Sometimes, you choose what you do in Hollywood; but most of the time, Hollywood chose for you.

"We could…not do it. I'm sure Jake stuffed the release forms we signed into that messenger bag he left in the hallway. I could grab it, rip it, and the two of us could take on…"

Quinn snorted, not able to hide her amusement till Santana finished her plan. "Calm down, San. Maybe we should give it a go. Schuester obviously thinks it'll be good for your career."

Santana rolled her eyes. Sometimes she wondered why she didn't just fire the man. Her agent made the weirdest decisions for her, most of the time, under the guise of it being 'good for her career'. Still, the guy hadn't been wrong before. "Yeah, just what I need. The lead female in 'The Man Who Saved the Earth', busting her ass on a gameshow that's probably set up to humiliate us. What does Emma think?"

It was Quinn's turn to roll her eyes. "My manager decided the band needed the publicity for our next album."

"You guys already get sold-out concerts. What more 'publicity' can you guys need?"

"Maybe this is a good thing." Quinn stood, stretching. Her blue blouse rode up slightly, exposing her fit stomach. "You know, show everyone a different side to us. I love the fans. Maybe this is a good thing." She glanced at her best friend. "I'm not doing it without you, though. So, suck it up. If we do get embarrassed, you get half."

Santana watched the blonde with a smirk. "Seriously? What about all that nonsense about us competing for the golden-something? Would you really want me whooping your ass on national television?"

"You wish. You don't even know if it's national."

"It's Sue Sylvester and Wheezy. We're Santana Lopez, the 'It' woman, and Quinn Fabray, lead singer of Not Indie. I wouldn't be surprised if it was _inter_national."

* * *

"You're bringing that into my car?" Santana asked, holding the driver's door open. Her Lamborghini Reventon Roadster was her pride and joy. The only people that have ever been allowed in it were her and Quinn. Not even her Mami had been in the car.

Marley glanced at Jake. "Uh, yeah, I guess." She was holding the handheld camera that had been on the coffee table before, balancing it on her shoulder. It was still filming, as Santana had been told. Jake held the boom mic steadily, nodding along.

Sighing, Santana stepped away from her convertible, slamming the door and locking it. "Come on, we'll take my other car. I wouldn't want to make it harder for you. Wind must really mess up audio." Walking steadily, Santana crossed the spacious garage to get to her decoy car, the hybrid she used when she didn't want to be noticed. Quinn rolled by, behind the wheel of her own less conspicuous car, Kitty and Asian Face in the passenger and backseat, respectively.

"Hey, San. I'll see you later?" Quinn asked, hoping that whatever they had in store for them, she could more than handle. If they pit her against her friend though…

Santana pulled her lips into her mouth, blinking slightly in her tee and jeans. Only Santana Lopez could wear something so casual, and pass it off as a designer's headlining piece in a summer collection. "We'll see. And Q?"

"Yeah?"

"Good luck." Quinn nodded, knowing that despite their differences and whatever was coming up, she had Santana in her corner.

"You too. Stay safe."

Santana smirked, hearing her unspoken promise echoed back to her. Sometimes, she was really glad Quinn Fabray was her friend. "Yes, mami."

* * *

The coordinates brought her to the heart of the city, in front of one of the many strings of shops that would line the roads winding through L.A. Furrowing her brows, Santana double-checked the GPS. Shouldn't they have ended up in some soundstage with an obstacle course or something?

Nope. This was where she was supposed to be.

"Seriously. What the hell am I doing?" Santana grumbled, killing her engine, and getting out of her car, absentmindedly holding the door open for Marley, who scrambled out of the passenger seat. She looked around their surroundings too, as mystified as she was. Jake pulled himself out of the car, his long frame leaking out onto the sidewalk, blinking at where they were. Santana reached back into her vehicle, fiddling in her glove compartment for her sunglasses she always stored there.

Slipping her aviators on, she turned to the two. "What now?"

She tried not to bristle when they just shrugged. People were walking past them, busy about their own day, tourists among them gawking at everything. Santana didn't know what exactly they were amazed by, the sheer amount of retail shops selling clothes, or the almost absurd _normalcy_ of it all. L.A. had its own vibe, Santana figured. She could certainly relate. Even she herself had to pinch her arm from time to time, just to reassure herself that yes, that was Robin Thicke in the supermarket, and yes, that was Angelina Jolie ducking into the nursing room to feed her latest adopted baby.

But it was something she liked about the city. That you could just forget that thousands of people probably adored you and have seen you through a screen or in a cinema but never met you, and just lived. People who lived in L.A. never fussed about who you were; it was all about where you're from, and who you knew.

Turning, she saw a German couple stare her way, and decided that she better get moving, before they got up enough courage to ask for her autograph, or for a picture. She had a mission to carry out. Pulling out her phone again, she revisited the text she had gotten from who she could only assume was Mercedes.

"She said someone would be here…" Santana muttered, spinning in a slow circle as she tried to pinpoint just who exactly it might be. It could have been anyone-someone she had never met, or even a celebrity. She gritted her teeth when she couldn't find anyone on her first circle, and the German couple looked like they had just about gotten the nerve to come up to her.

"Alright, follow me." Quickly, she ducked into the nearest shop, hoping to hide there long enough for people to not recognise her. The last thing she wanted was to have to replace her car just because people could track it as hers.

Stepping into the cool confines of the spacious store, Santana nearly walked right back out, because as she realised too late, it specialised in lingerie. Marley giggled when she caught sight of Jake's sudden interest in the floor, his skin turning a splotchy purple due to his blush.

Huh. Maybe she could stay in here a bit longer…it _was_ pretty empty.

"Hey, Jake, see anything you like?" She teased, walking deeper into the empty store-save for the sales ladies-forcing the crew members to follow her. "No, seriously. What? Red, purple? What about black? You look like a lace man." She couldn't resist, especially when Jake shot her a warning glare. Santana just smirked back, winking at Marley.

As she did, she noticed someone else enter the store, along with two more people, both lugging recording equipment. Stopping, Santana stood next to a drawer of underwear, looking over the shoulders of her two hanger-on's. "Is she with us?" She couldn't really see the face, hidden as it was by a chic woolly hat, and a thick scarf. Cashmere. Huh. Good taste.

The lady was searching for something, she realised, and noted the sticker stuck to the upper sleeve of her jacket. Santana began to walk towards her, when she was spotted.

"Santana Lopez?" As she heard the voice, Santana's jaw dropped.

"Unique?"

Everyone knew Wade 'Unique' Addams. There was no way any teenager worth their hormones didn't know the Mistress of the Stage. If Santana was a household name for her acting roles, then Unique was a household name for his personality and rise to fame.

Surprisingly, Unique had come from Lima, Ohio, just as Santana and Quinn had. Santana had never seen him in person before though, but the tabloids and fans always liked to speculate what would happen if they were ever to meet-Hollywood's 'It' girl, and the Mistress.

A part of Santana was kind of impressed-Sylvester sure knew how to run a show. She was certain that just them meeting would be enough to secure a large viewership. Idly, she wondered if Unique was solely there for her, or if she was the person giving out the tasks to everybody on the show.

"Well, it's nice to finally meet the girl everyone's talking about." Unique offered her hand out, and Santana took it, deciding not to take offense at the pronoun used.

"Likewise, Unique. You have no idea how many people want to see us standing next to each other; I wouldn't be surprised if people started to pair us together." As she said it, she noticed people beginning to slow down outside, teenagers that probably were supposed to be in school, instead of double-taking outside of lingerie shops and squealing when they recognised the two standing inside.

"Unique and Santana Lopez _are_ two very fine ladies, I'll give them that." She winked, and Santana let a smirk settle comfortably on her lips. Unique wasn't too bad-Santana certainly admired her guts.

Deciding the pleasantries were out of the way, she began to feel adrenaline flood her veins. She was naturally competitive, and even if she still wasn't sure if she even wanted to be on the stupid show in the first place, she sure as hell wasn't going to be last. Besides, people were beginning to clog up the sidewalk, phones and cameras pointed into the shop, and if she didn't move now, the paparazzi probably wouldn't be too far behind.

"You have something to give me?"

Unique grinned, reaching into her jacket pocket, pulling out a non-descript brown envelope. "Here you go."

"I open this?" Santana double-checked, catching the finally brave shop assistants begin to creep along the edges of their small circle, looking like racoons and badgers trying to get into someone's tied garbage. The only thing keeping them away was probably the threat of filming.

"Go right ahead."

Pursing her lips, Santana carefully slid the top open, pulling out a piece of paper.

_"Glad to see you arrived safely. Inside the envelope, you will find a bandana. Make sure it is visible on your person at all times-this is imperative. Failure to comply will result in disqualification." _

Santana found the red cloth easily enough, noting the name of the show printed on it in white. She busied one hand to tie it to her right wrist, as she finished reading the instructions.

_"Your first mission has begun. Scattered across the city are the other nine contestants. Two teams will have three members; the green team, you have four. Find all your members by the colour of their bandanas, and then head to the following coordinates."_

Santana paused. Wait, that was it? Who were the other eight contestants? She only knew Quinn; how was she supposed to find two other people in this city? They could be just about anyone!

"You know, you and Quinn Fabray have quite an advantage."

"What?" Santana hummed, reading over the mission again. Maybe she was missing something.

"You know one other person; technically no one is supposed to know each other yet." Unique seemed to be quite amused by the way Santana was scrutinising the paper over and over again.

"Really?" Santana thought about it for a moment. Huh. Maybe she was right-it was probably luck that they happened to live together. But maybe that was the link? Roommates?

"It's not what you're thinking, darling." Unique laughed, sassily cocking her hips. "There's a connection between all the contestants. This is Sue Sylvester we're talking about. Owner of one of the highest grossing channels of all time. She's the goddess of reality tv. I'm sure you'll figure the connection out."

Seizing her with a look, Santana spoke heatedly. "But this doesn't make sense! What are the rules? What's the purpose of all this? The hell are the Golden Lungs?"

All she got in reply was an exaggerated tapping of a finger against the Mistress's wrist. "Tick-tock, Santana Lopez. Everyone else probably already have their missions too; it never hurts to be early in _this_ game."

"Will I get disqualified or something?" Santana asked, resisting slightly as Unique began to bustle her towards the exit.

"Or something. Good luck!" And with that, she shooed Santana out the door, winking as she went along.

Santana stood, irritated beyond belief. Fine. If everyone was going to be vague, her only hope was to do as she was told and try not to slaughter the next person who wouldn't answer her questions.

Nodding towards her car, Santana plastered a polite smile for everyone squealing her name outside the store. She loved her fans, really, she did. The loss of her privacy? Not so much. Which was why, when people began to ask her why she was here so early in the morning, all they got as an answer was the signature smirk and a wave.

"Get in, get in." She urged under her breath, as she tried to stand out of reaching distance of the fangirls stretching their hands out for her. Marley and Jake didn't need to be told twice-they seemed pretty surprised at how fast the group had converged.

Shutting the door behind Jake and Marley, Santana crossed the front of her car and slid behind the steering wheel.

"Are they always like that?" Jake asked, awed. He was staring out her heavily tinted windows at the crowd, a position mimicked by Marley.

"Pretty much." Santana started the engine. "Now close your mouth. They can smell fear; they'll pounce on you and possibly put you through the Spanish Inquisition." Jake's jaw slammed shut.

"Where are we going?" Marley spoke up, her startled brown eyes still focused on a man who had lifted up his shirt to reveal a pudgy belly tattooed with the name of the star beside her.

Pulling out of her spot, Santana began to ease them away from the mob, only sparing them the barest glance in the rearview mirror. "Firstly, away from them. Then, I'm going to take advantage o my advantage, and call Q."

As they had made their way out of the lingerie store, Santana had managed to concoct some semblance of a plan. First, she would call her best friend. Find out if they were in the same team.

She had also figured out the most logical connection between all the contestants. Possibly, they were all celebrities. People that were probably big names, or familiar faces towards the audiences. Probably, like her and Quinn, needing the publicity.

It was a start.

Stopping at a red light, Santana noted a somewhat empty parking lot in front of a supermarket. Perfect. She could hide out there for a while.

She pulled to a stop, leaving the engine running, before pulling out her phone and pressing the second number on speed dial. It rang two times, and then-

"San?" Quinn sounded breathless, like she had been running. Immediately, Santana furrowed her brows.

"Q? What's going on?" She was acutely aware of the two people in her car recording her every word, but she didn't care. Her best friend came before everything; even her tough reputation.

"I'm being chased." Quinn cursed softly, and Santana picked up the faint background shout of "Corner her!"

Santana sat straighter, her foot resting on the accelerator.

"Quinn, where are you?"

"Don't come, San! I don't want them getting you too!"

"Bitch, tell me where you are!" She was yelling, but really, her heart was thumping louder than her voice could ever go. What the hell was going on? If Quinn was being chased, did that mean Santana was a target too? Who were the people chasing her?

"A...a park. Some residential neighbourhood. San, please, don't find me. They're...they have the bandanas from the show. Green. I think they're trying to steal mine; eliminate me. Shit!" Quinn's end went quiet for a while, and Santana listened harder than ever trying to differentiate the noises she could hear. A rustling of some sort, and loud, heavy footsteps. Quinn gasping quietly.

"Q?" Santana whispered, needing to make sure her friend was safe. A dull noise; Santana realised Quinn was tapping on the mouthpiece. "Good. Keep tapping."

The footsteps were coming closer, and then a sigh that was definitely not Quinn came across the phone. Quinn stopped her tapping long enough for Santana to hear the words being said.

"Damnit, where did Fabray go? Finn? Yo, man. We lost her. Come on, we need to find the last member of our team, and then we gotta bail. Q's not green. Red. Yeah...no, tell Sugar that I won't get her..." The voice trailed off, as did the footsteps.

Quiet.

"He's gone."

"The fuck? Was that Puckerman?" Santana was reeling. What the hell was Puck doing here? And had he been talking to Finn?

"Yeah." A moment. "I think I know who we're looking for. Celebrities-"

"Big names, personalities. Yeah, yeah. Way ahead of you, Q. Wait, if your bandmates are in this..."

"I guess Artie's somewhere too." Quinn exhales shakily. "Shit, San. Just what the hell is going on?"

"My sentiments exactly." Santana checked all three mirrors before pulling out of the lot. "Look, are you red?"

"Yeah."

"Then, tell me where you are. We need to find our last member together."

* * *

Stepping out of her car, Santana couldn't shake off her paranoia. She felt like she was being watched, and not just by cameras.

"Creepy stuff." She remarked off-handedly, texting Quinn to tell her that she was already at their meeting spot. Santana shivered, feeling a chill despite the sun having climbed higher in the sky. It was almost noon, and her stomach was beginning to make itself known, growling. Maybe they could pick up something to eat along the way.

Marley was glancing around with quick movements. "Do you feel like...we're being watched?"

"Like I said, creepy stuff." Santana repeated, signalling that the crew should remain in the hybrid, where it was safer if they needed to make a break for it. Jake and Marley followed unconditionally, getting back inside. Santana kept her guard up, dark eyes tracking any movement in the quiet park.

The sound of a car horn had her jumping out of her skin, a loud curse ripping out of her throat.

"Fabray!" She scowled, stalking over to the laughing blonde that had parked behind her car while she had been deep in concentration. She was going to kill that bitch...

"You should have seen your face! Priceless!" Kitty and Aisan in Pigtails were laughing as well, cracking up behind their equipment. Flipping the bird with a false smile, Santana reached inside the open driver's window and poked her roommate hard in the ribs.

"Yeah, well, you know what else is priceless? The story of that one time, when we went to _that_ bar, and you got-"

Quinn slapped a hand over the Latina's mouth, her face blushing hard. "Shut up!"

Santana just smirked, ripping herself free. "Anyway, tactical meeting. We have to find our last team member, and head to the coordinates before the others-"

"Done. I know who she is." Quinn cut in, pulling her phone out of her pocket. Santana's eyebrow raised at the interruption, but she looked at what Quinn was trying to point out anyway, not liking the slightly uncomfortable smirk tilting her friend's lips.

As she scanned the tabloid website Quinn has up on her screen, she felt her scowl take on a new level at showing her disgust, as she saw the picture and scanned the article.

"You have got to be shitting me."


	3. Off-off Broadway

A/N: So this is just a quick update. something to tide you over.

also: i'm also nervous about this chapter, cos like i said, never been to L.A. hopefully that isnt too obvious. drop me a review?:D

thank you for all the follows and favs guys-makes my day like nothing else!:D

Disclaimer: I don't own glee, but i did just make the best cup of tea ever.

* * *

"When I find whoever set this up, I will personally go all Lima Heights on their asses!" Santana was still ranting about the revelation of their last member, and Quinn just rolled her eyes, making sure the Latina could see her do it in her rearview mirror. Tucking her long blonde hair behind her ear, Quinn tapped her other digits on the wheel, waiting for the light to turn green. Santana was still going strong, but the blonde knew she was running out of steam-she had already been going on with it for the past ten minutes.

Beside her, Kitty and Kazatori were trying not to giggle too loudly. They found the entire situation rather amusing, and Quinn couldn't blame them. To any stranger, Santana's dislike for the woman they were hoping to find would be unfathomable.

To anyone who knew, it was more than perfectly acceptable.

"...and RuPaul better be where Perez says she is-there is no way I'm going to track her down and add unnecessary mileage to my car."

Deciding she could maybe try to placate her now, Quinn snorted. "Then we'll be disqualified. You want to win, right?" Quinn really wouldn't put it past the actress to refuse to look for her. So she had to appeal to the dark haired woman's sense of competition. To be honest, she wasn't looking forward to it too.

Rachel Berry did that even to the nicest of people.

Santana forced herself to calm, turning her car down the street the gossip mag had last seen the annoying hobbit at. Hollywood Boulevard was huge; it would take them a while to find her on foot.

Slowing, Santana picked up her phone from where it sat on the dashboard, switching the speakerphone off. "There's always a catch." She muttered, eyes scanning the crowd. The tourist attraction was always crowded-people made a living on the street. There was no way she would be able to pick out Short Stack from over the heads of all the taller people. "Q, how in the name of Santa Maria are we supposed to find Ant_wo_man in this crowd?"

It was past noon. The busiest time of the day.

"Did you just make a comic book reference?"

"Focus, Q." Santana warned, looking around. "Seriously. Where?"

"We could always drive down the road once, and then hope we see her."

"Right. I'll take left; you look on the right. I'm sure her annoying voice carries." Santana couldn't resist the jab, and Quinn had to swallow a giggle threatening to come.

Distracting herself, she focused on her surroundings, trying to forget that she was being filmed, trying to forget the feeling of being chased. She still had no idea how and why it had even happened; Puck, her guitarist, had spotted her as she had been getting into her car, a puzzled look on his face, till he saw the colour of her bandana. That made him yell for his teammates, and they started chasing her, and she had panicked, freaking out enough to run away from her _car_ and head straight into the park, hoping to find shelter. Thank god Emma had the personal coach put her on a running regime; Quinn probably would have run out of stamina and been caught if not for all the exercises aimed at expanding her lungs.

She was pretty sure she never wanted to go through that again.

"I don't see anything, Q." Santana's voice dragged her out of her thoughts, and Quinn stared at her phone on the dashboard.

"You wanna circle again?"

"Nah. I think we'll have a better chance if we get out and look. Ask around."

Despite herself, Quinn shuddered. "Um..."

Santana made a face at the reply, a bit unsure as to where it had come from. Quinn had always been more determined in her actions, even more stubborn than Santana ever would be. Once Quinn had a goal, she dug her heels in and sprinted the whole way.

"Alright then..." Uncertainly, she caught the singer's eye in the rearview mirror, hoping to gain a clue as to what was bothering her.

Quinn pursed her lips. Ah. "Fine, Fabgay. _I'll_ go on foot, and you do one more run up and down the Boulevard. We don't know if Puckerman's team is gonna be an ass and try to take Rachel's bandana off; you're getaway car one. I'll call you if anything comes up." In the mirror, Santana watched as the blonde nodded.

She killed her engine, and got out, propping her sunglasses on her head for a minute, before deciding it would be easier to have them down. If they could track Rachel down using tabloids, _they _could definitely track them.

"Where do we start looking for a loud, whiny troll?" Santana asked, walking into the crowd. In the photo, Rachel had been seen standing by a star on the ground, looking at it with weird expression on her face. Drawing it up on her phone, Santana tried to resist rolling her eyes again at the sight of the red cloth threaded through her belt loops. At least she wasn't dressing like a visually-impaired nun anymore, Santana reflected. Things could be worse.

Santana noted the building in the background and looked up to search for it amongst her surroundings. Not finding it, she decided to walk around a bit. Even though she was an annoying gnat, Rachel Berry was a big deal on the Broadway stage, and a debuting movie star, ever since she got the lead in the movie adaptation of _The Glass Menagerie_-"It's _off_-off Broadway!"

Santana would have liked to 'off' her.

As she traipsed through the crowds, she figured that Rachel Berry wasn't too bad. Sure, she spoke too much, and half the time sounded like a specific reincarnation of a Jewish Mother Theresa, with her campaign for peace and equality, and had a wardrobe that was just _tragic_, but man, that girl could _sing_. Put her on a stage, and let her have at it-she could bring grown men to their knees.

"Miss Santana?" The timid question had her jerking. Who the-?

"Marley? Holy hell, I thought that was Sylvester's PA calling me." Santana inhaled deeply, fixing them with a glare. "Unless you want to shave ten years off my lifespan, or even better, have me shave ten years off yours, call me Santana. And I will not call you two Tweedledee amd Tweedledumber. Is that alright?"

Marley swallowed visibly again, and Santana sighed. "Sorry. It's been a weird day." She paused. "I meant what I said though. Call me Santana." The star shook her head slightly, as they navigated cleanly around a crowd cheering on a man on a huge wall. He was doing a handstand. "Now, what was your question?"

"Um," Marley hefted the camera just a bit higher on her shoulder, almost tipping her beret askew. Jake adjusted it before she could, and gave her a small smile off-screen. "I just wondered why you don't like Miss Berry very much."

Smirking, Santana spared her a charming wink. "That's usually never-date material." She joked, reaching out a hand to push Jake out of the way of a loud group of tourists. Tucking her fingers into her pockets, Santana tried to scan the crowd for a head of brunette hair. "But if you must know, Rachel Berry has the ego of a Russian dictator. That is, to say, one that is deluded, and yet, well-deserved."

"So...she's annoying?" It seemed like the only conclusion that Jake could come to, his face scrunching as he tried to figure out Santana's backhanded compliment.

Santana smirked again. "You're learning. I may just keep you both after all."

Marley beamed, as Jake gave a small grin of surprise. They weren't too bad.

They kept wading through the crowd, trying to find the building photographed in the picture, but none of them seemed to match. Santana sighed, about to give up the search, when something clicked in her head.

"Fuck." She exhaled, exasperated at her own slowness. "Where's Streisand's star?"

* * *

"She should be here, somewhere."

"How do you know?"

"Trust me, Marley. Manhands worships this lady-she's not bad, but totally not my kind of star." Positive she was on the right track, Santana turned, trying to spot the woman.

Nothing. "I thought she would be here." Santana sighed, matching the picture on her phone perfectly to where they were now. "Looks like we're too late."

"What are we gonna do now?" Jake took advantage of his height to look around, blinking against the afternoon light.

Snorting, Santana dialled Quinn. "I guess we'll get Q to keep looking-she could be here. We'll go back to my-"

"Santana, look!" Marley was pointing to a corner, where a bunch of families had just regurgitated themselves off a tour bus. Santana looked, and her scowl returned.

"Oh, no way. No way. _Cabron_! _Hijo de puta_!"

"Um, Santana, this is going on tv-"

"Tell me that is not Rachel Berry getting off that tour bus, which specifically offers a sight-seeing tour for the 'Stars of the Boulevard'."

"Santana, did you find her?"

"Quinn, you might want to head over to the north side of the 6900th building. There might be a possible homicide occurring."

"On my way."

"Santana, wait!" Marley yelled, as she tried not to trip over her own feet in her haste to catch up to the actress. The woman was obviously pissed, and the cinematographer wasn't deluding herself that it wasn't her fault.

And she thought the Latina _half-asleep_ was scary.

"Streisand! Hobbit!" She yelled, her eyes flashing, but her face composed. Santana didn't want to be openly angry in public-she had an image to protect, after all.

Rachel Berry turned, caught off-guard. Her face went from confused, to surprised, to happy. "Santana! How nice to see you! Is Quinn with you?"

Ignoring her question, Santana marched up next to her, propping her aviators on her head. "Hey Toddler. Of course, I make it a habit to always have one person between you and me at all times, don't you know? It's so that," she leaned in close. "-I don't kill you."

The threat, with the full force of the Lopez glare, would have had people running by now. But not Rachel. Oh, no. Rachel Berry was used to Santana Lopez's theatrics. And after all, she _was_ a star on the Broadway stage; she didn't have to be scared of her.

Instead, Rachel haughtily crossed her arms, sticking her nose up in the air, as she waited for her two crew members to join her. "Well, while I do appreciate your absurd goodwill, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit? Normally, you would pretend I was invisible and be on your merry way."

"On my merry-Berry, do not make me out to be some sort of Christmas elf. I came because of _this_." She tapped on her wrist, showing her bandana. Rachel glanced at it, and her eyes grew wide.

"We're on the same team? Wait, you're on the show too?"

"Despite my fervent prayers, yes." Santana snapped, as she hooked her arm through the shorter girl's towing her behind her.

"Wait, where are you-Let go!"

"I cannot believe I was busting my ass looking for you, RuPaul, while you were off enjoying yourself on a freaking _tour_ like some sort of nubile tourist-"

"Santana! I demand you-!"

"San! Calm down!"

"Great, the cavalry's arrived. Quick, Quinn, grab her other arm-"

"Quinn, I demand you get her off-"

"Everybody quit!" Quinn yelled, shoving her arm to push the squirming bodies apart. "What is going on?" She was livid. They were in public! Oh, her PR agent was going to have a field day with this.

Santana spoke up first, giving Rachel a dirty look through her aviators. "Manhands started it first! She was on a tour bus, Quinn, a tour bus! While we were being chased-"

"Chased?" Rachel had no idea what they were talking about. Who was after them?

"I said, quit!" Santana and Rachel both fell silent in front of the blonde, who was breathing heavily, a scowl of her own marring her lips. "God, one at a time. I can't concentrate with the two of you!"

Huffing, Santana crossed her arms, looking away. It was then that she realised that they had attracted a pretty large crowd, who were quite amazed to see three big starlets shouting at each other. Were they doing an episode of Punk'd or something?

Cursing again, Santana slipped her arms through both of the others, muttering a quick, "Don't get your weirdness all over me, Hobbit," to Rachel, as she began to lead them away. Louder, she nodded towards where she knew Quinn's car was parked. "We need to go. I refuse to be last; we've wasted enough time."

"Whose fault is that?"

Santana decided to ignore Quinn's jibe, as she continued. "Someone was snapping pictures. If the other team sees it, we don't know how it'll affect us later on. We have to go. Quinn, meet us at my car. Berry, where are you parked?"

"I don't have a car."

Santana's steps faltered. "Are you serious?" _Everyone_ had a car.

Rachel snorted, doing a weird half-step to keep up with the other two's longer strides. "Do you know the amount of greenhouse gas they emit? Cars leave a huge carbon footprint-excuse me if I decide to not be like you and own a monster that kills the environment!"

Rolling her eyes, she released Quinn to unlock her car. "All I heard was blah, blah, cars, blah, blah, environment. Newsflash for you: we leave a carbon footprint even by walking, so. Funny, I always thought you loved finding new things to shove that beak of yours into; leave your mark on."

Quinn reached over to flick Santana between the eyes. "Calm down, Satan. Look, Rach, how'd you even get here?"

Looking a bit grateful that she had been saved, Rachel bit her bottom lip. "I took the bus here. I took the tour because I thought I could get around better, you know? Spot my members if they were around."

"Or you wanted to look for a place for your star." Santana muttered, smirking when Rachel shot her dirty look. "This is a problem. And we need some way to fix it."

"Can't I just ride with one of you?"

Santana crossed her arms. "Aren't you afraid of getting lost between the seats? Your short frame isn't easy to find, you know. And," she flipped her sunglasses up in a placating manner. "-even if I do allow you in my car, what about your crew of two? I can't fit both of them into my hybrid." She thumbed to the Lexus behind her.

"That hybrid's yours?" Rachel asked softly. Santana shot her a look.

"Not the issue, Hobbit." Glancing at Marley and Jake, she sighed. "Is it cool if I squeezed the troll's crew with us? Q can take Berry, and then we can go."

Quinn tilted her head, deciding not to comment. The Latina was in her element; she was a natural leader, consistent and decisive, which sometimes not even Quinn could fault.

(Which would explain quite a bit about their slightly dysfunctional friendship.)

She trusted the Latina to take the lead on this one, which was why she nodded when Santana wordlessly asked for her approval.

Besides, if something happened before they reached the location, she was pretty confident she could handle herself and Rachel. Santana would probably just insult the Broadway star to tears.


	4. Brittany Pierce

A/N: Thanks so much for reading guys! Hope you like this one as well!

snixxjuice214: Thank you so much! *and it was actually a toss up between her and Britt, but i wanted Britt to make her first appearance in this chapter*

ArmadilloPretzels: *bows* that is a high compliment! thank you! she's a blast to write!

BrittzTana: thanks! hope you enjoy this chapter as well!

Disclaimer: I don't own Glee at all. But i do have a huge mountain of homework waiting for me.

* * *

"We're almost there." Quinn announced, as she led the way down the narrow, empty street. She recognised the place-it was one of the many empty plots of land just outside L.A. that Emma had once told her belonged to Sylvester's company. Quinn had been here before, shooting a music video with her band.

Speaking of, she was going to kill Puckerman when she saw him.

"Roger that, over."

Chuckling, Quinn caught Rachel's eye in the rearview, sat in the backseat with Kazatori. "Don't worry; Santana's calmed down now. She won't kill you." She assured, in response to the brunette's paranoid expression.

"_You_ can say that; I still feel her eyes boring a hole into the back of my skull." She fidgeted with her fingers, and Quinn shook her head. Her friend could be unreasonably mean to the other woman, but Quinn knew Santana didn't mean any of it.

"I can still hear you two, you know. And yes, Streisand. I _am _trying to see if my fabulousness allows me to shoot lasers out of my eyes; alas, no luck, as of yet. I'll keep trying, over." Santana's voice reminded Quinn she that she was still on speakerphone with the other girl, and she rolled her eyes at the ridiculous threat.

Santana smirked, as she followed Quinn's red car into the turn-off. She should probably lay off the teasing for now-she could tell Rachel was reaching her breaking point.

The narrow dirt lane led into a makeshift parking lot, and Santana was inwardly glad she hadn't taken her Roadster-her baby's wheels would've been thrashed if she drove it here. The edges of the lots were marked by white flags, the show's name emblazoned brightly in black. A few other cars were already there, and Santana saw people milling around outside a huge white tent, the canvas roof stretched across poles at the head of the lot.

"Looks like we're here." Quinn's voice filtered through the phone, and Santana picked it up as she parked.

"I'm guessing we head to the tent?"

"I see Mercedes there." Rachel piped up, and Santana saw the host she was referring to.

"Not bad, Hobbit. Come on." Hanging up, the Latina stuffed the device into her pocket, nodding to the four crew members in her car.

The minute she put her feet to the dirt she was spotted. "Well, look who it is!"

Santana raised an eyebrow behind her shades, as she slammed her door shut. Smirking at the figure coming towards them, she couldn't resist teasing. "Whoa, Wheezy. Don't bust your ass trying to get here-you might pop something."

"Don't you dare start, Santana Lopez-I'm warning you." The woman had a cheeky smile on her face, holding her arms out for a hug, and despite herself, Santana found herself hugging back. She had really missed the African-American girl and she really enjoyed her company-Mercedes took no shit from nobody.

Which reminded her.

"The hell is going on? I nearly killed Berry in front of witnesses today!" Her annoyance clipping her voice, Santana scowled at a suddenly disinterested Mercedes. The talkshow host's attention was with her two companions, plump lips pulling apart to reveal white teeth.

"Hello, 'Cedes. How are you?" Quinn nudged Santana in the ribs as she stood next to her, shooting her a quick glare.

"Quinn, Rach! How nice to see you all made it! Great, you're first to arrive. Let's go." Her usual take-charge attitude was still intact, Santana noted, as she followed the obviously excited woman to the tent. With a quick warning to mind their head, Santana ducked between the flaps and stopped short, her fingers pausing in their action of hooking her sunglasses around her collar.

"Whoa." The inside of the tent was quite large, housing a bunch of film cameras, with cables winding through each other to tangle at outlets, leaving very little space for walking. They were manned by two more crew members, both of whom looked relieved to see the people who crowded into the tent behind Santana's team. The cameras, pointed at the center of the tent, were set to film the people set to take their places on the chairs there. Santana counted eleven seats in total.

"Is that where we're sitting?" Rachel asked, as they carefully stepped past the maze of possible sprained ankles.

"Yes. Now plonk your skinny asses down on those chairs."

Santana took her place next to Quinn, giving Rachel the stink eye when she looked like she was going to sit next to her. "Wheezy, come on. Answer our questions."

"Soon. Later, when everyone's here. You guys having fun so far?"

Rachel cut in before everyone could, beginning her long recount of the morning, taking the attention away from everyone else. Where normally Santana would roll her eyes, she merely relaxed slightly in her chair, exhaling long and loud.

"You really should sit properly." Quinn leaned over, whispering into her ear as she warily eyed their surroundings.

"Because decorum is important right now."

"No, because there are cameras_ everywhere_, and I think some other team's come." Santana rolled her eyes, crossing her ankles and arms. There was a commotion outside, and a pimply boy popped his head in to inform Mercedes of the other team's arrival. Excusing herself, the host nimbly navigated the wires, leaving the three behind in a silence.

"Who else do you think got roped into this?" Quinn asked suddenly, shifting in her seat. Opposite them, the film crew were being bundled out, leaving behind a rep to continue to watch the footage. The older man smiled slightly, before turning back to his work.

"I believe artists much the same as us." Rachel supplied, fussing with her skirt. Scrunching her eyebrows, Santana gave her a face. "Berry, no shit. I think Sue's on a mission to put as much starpower on a gameshow as possible."

"Still, I have no idea why she chose us." Quinn gestured between herself and her roommate. "We don't need the publicity."

Rachel bristled. "Are you saying that I do?"

"Streisand, I think she means that no one outside of a gay bar and their grandmother knows you."

"I'm offended! Broadway is a wide-reaching platform, and I refuse to allow you to say-"

"Calm down, Lea Salonga. We're just saying. Film is different than stage, as is music is different from performing show tunes."

Quinn sighed, shaking her head slightly. Santana settled, oddly taking no satisfaction from the confused outrage on Rachel's face.

"...and you get to meet your fellow cast members!" Mercedes announced, re-entering the tent, followed closely by a trio of boys. Santana's eyes widened, as she recognised all of them, two much more than the other.

"Sam? Artie?" Quinn cocked her head, looking surprised.

The Man Who Saved the World's leading man and Not Indie's DJ both looked up, curious. Their grins grew wide on their faces as they recognised who it was.

"San, Quinn!" Sam greeted, bounding over, his arms wide for a hug. Artie shuffled over a bit slower, his limp almost unrecognisable in his gait. The last celebrity was Asian Sensation, Mike Chang, one of the two hosts that did 'Losing Champions'. Now _that_, Santana reflected, was a reality show. Seeing Americans lose weight was her favourite hobby. Next to cussing out every member of Jersey Shore, of course.

Santana stood, letting herself be pulled into her co-star's body, laughing slightly as he lifts her up and twirls her around with him. "Oh man, I didn't know that you guys were involved in this too!"

"Neither did I, Fish Lover. Now put me down." She squirmed, stifling her giggles when he tickled her waist. Sam Evans gently placed her back on her feet, his horrendously huge lips pulling back to reveal perfect white teeth, as he turned his attention to Quinn. The blonde barely got a moment's pause before she was given the same treatment as her best friend.

As they spun, Santana rolled her eyes amusedly, and offered her hand out for a fist bump with the DJ, who had taken a seat next to Rachel.

"Long time no see, Robot Boy."

Artie leaned back, the hem of his tight jeans riding up to show a hint of prosthetic flesh. "And you too, Satan. Haven't killed Quinn yet?"

"Why does everyone assume I'm a serial killer? You're not the first person to ask me that today." Noticing that Rachel was darting glances between the both of them with wide eyes, she smirks. "And I see you've met Rachel Berry."

"Pleasure to meet you, ma'am." Artie turned, giving the Broadway star a firm handshake. The very young adult-he was only nineteen-poured on the Southern charm, slipping into the charismatic persona that he put on for the fans. And by the way the tiny girl was looking at him, Artie knew she was a _fan_.

"Wow. You're DJ ArtSkeeze, aren't you? I love your music!" She was squealing, and Santana took a step back, caught slightly off-guard with this side of the starlet.

"Calm down, troll. Never took you to be the squealing fangirl type." She butted in, smirking at the way Rachel took a discreet deep breath to calm herself down. Artie, on the other hand, merely smiled, still holding on to her hand. He hadn't heard much about the woman in front of him, but if the way Santana pronounced her name fully was any indication, he figured it was a name he should know.

"Thanks. I always feel glad that people like my stuff." Artie answered, waggling his eyebrows slightly in a silent gesture to tell Santana to go away. The brunette didn't seem dangerous. Besides, she was obviously a celebrity.

Santana raised an eyebrow in reply, and shrugged. Hey, if Artie liked hobbits, it wasn't anything to her. Besides, Sam was already tapping her shoulder incessantly, trying to get her to turn and join the conversation he was having with Quinn and Mike.

"What's hanging, Trouty?" She spun next to him, glancing at the fitness show host and shooting him a smirk.

"Just wanted you to meet Mike Chang-he's from-"

"'Losing Champions', I know. And I know I'll sound like a dork, but I watch your show sometimes. It's great."

"More like all the time. She keeps recording over my episodes of _Grey's Anatomy_ with your show." Quinn butted in, crossing her arms. Shooting her a quick scowl, Santana rolled her eyes.

"Just because I prefer watching something slightly _relevant_ to my life...Unless you were planning to get a job as a doctor anytime soon?"

"Please. You work out more than anyone in my band put together-and they're all guys."

"It's not my fault that-" Sam coughed, interrupting her. Inwardly, she blushed. "My bad. But hey, you're awesome. Just getting that out there."

Mike Chang did nothing more than smile, his eyes twinkling. "So are you. Honestly, I watch your show religiously. Brittany always teases me about it."

At the mention of his co-host, Santana bit her bottom lip. "She does?"

"Like clockwork. Sometimes, I get her to watch it with me." He winked. "After the first time, I changed her tune."

"Well, we do try."

A commotion by the tent flap had them all turning, where Mercedes was yelling across the lot. "Damnit, Puckerman! You sideswipe my car and I will shave that Mohawk right off your head!" She sounded pissed, and Santana's mouth quirked. She had missed Mercedes threatening everyone she met.

From outside the tent, she registered the sound of tires against dirt, a car's engine roaring powerfully into the lot. The growl cut off, as the sound of doors slamming replaced it, and voices filled the air. Santana counted four in total.

"Dude, that was awesome!"

"Told you; if the Puckerman can't do it, no one can."

"Oh my god guys, my mints spilled in my purse."

"You have to teach me sometime, Puck."

Finn, Puck, and two other women Santana couldn't place. She exchanged a glance with her best friend, confused. Quinn shrugged back in reply, but turned when she caught the look of delight on Mike's face.

"Is that-" His question was left unanswered, as Mercedes ushered the team in. Instead, he punched the air, and excused himself through their little huddle to get to the laughing blonde entering the tent first.

"Britt!"

Blue eyes lit up, as a lithe figure straightened and caught sight of her friend.

"Mike!" She laughed, as she nimbly and easily hopped the cables and jumped into ready arms. "Oh, wow! What are you doing here?"

"I'm on the show, B. You are too?"

"Yeah! I got the email from Sylvester a week ago!"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I couldn't, she told me if I did then, and I quote, 'I will send a group of skimpily dressed fat hopefuls from your show to do a striptease in front of your house.' And that would have been embarrassing, so..."

Mike laughed. "Yeah, she said something similar. Except mine consisted of some weird Asian remedies even I haven't heard of." Pulling away, he was quickly introduced to the rest of her team, the blonde gesticulating widely and smiling like a little kid on Christmas.

Meanwhile, Quinn and Sam were having a conversation.

"Isn't that the host San has that massive crush on?"

"Yeah, when I said she records over my tapings, it's purely for Pierce."

"Oh, like when she does her segments on the show?"

"Why else?" Quinn quirked an eyebrow, making Sam laugh. "Look at her; she's speechless."

And even though Santana wanted nothing more than to flip her off, she couldn't. She was too busy staring and trying to remember how to swallow.

Because holy _fuck_. That was Brittany Pierce. The Brittany Pierce that Santana had been crushing on since the very first time she had seen her on her television show, sat in her ratty pyjamas and waiting on the casting results for her 'The Man Who Saved the World' audition. The same Brittany Pierce that had winked through the screen at Santana (and millions of others, but who cares about them; Santana's the one watching), and made the then unknown-actress all but choke on her mouthful of Lucky Charms.

And then proceeded to make her fall in love with her more and more every week.

The blonde was giggling at something a tinier brunette was saying, as the girl jumped around in her pink suit jacket-those things existed?-and her blue eyes were crinkled at the corners, and her mouth was showing just the tips of white teeth, and holy shit, Santana was totally staring.

A sharp poke in the back had her jumping nearly a foot off the ground. "Fuck!" She turned, to meet with two sets of half-amused, half-mortified faces. "What the hell, Fabray!"

"Don't look at me, Lopez! It was Sam!"

She rounded on him, running on a buzz and anxiety. "And what in the name of holy Batman do _you_ want?"

"Um, San...you might want to..." He trailed off, pointing uncertainly behind her, taking a step back.

Santana stiffened. She had totally forgotten that there were other people around. Slowly, she turned back, plastering a flustered smile on her face. "Hey." She waved slightly to the room of now-silent people. Everyone was looking at her-Santana wanted to curl up and die, because Brittany Pierce was right _there_, and way to make an impression, Lopez. "Don't worry about me. Carry on, carry on." She waved her hands in front of her, hoping they would forget about her and stop staring and making the entire situation just _awkward_.

Oh, Santa Maria.

Slowly, everyone returned to their own conversations, with Mercedes beckoning the middle-aged cameraman over, whispering into his ear. Santana inhaled and exhaled deeply, rolling her eyes at herself. How could she have been so stupid? Gosh.

"San?"

"Not now, Q." She sighed, massaging her temples and glaring at her co-star. "You owe me lunch. And dinner. And a case of really, really expensive wine."

Sam smiled sheepishly. "I didn't know you would react like that. I just wanted to get your attention."

"And now you do."

"Sorry. And I _will_ buy you lunch and dinner. But no wine. Quinn won't let you drink it."

Groaning roughly, she stomped over to the last seat in the row, and sat, crossing her arms across her chest. Screw Quinn for always being right.

"Fine. But they better be fancy."

Sam dropped next to her, rubbing her back comfortingly. "Alright. We'll go to that really expensive restaurant where you liked their chocolate fondue."

"And I want shrimp."

"But you never order shrimp."

"I do now."

Amused by his friend's sullen pouting, Sam merely leant back and nodded, realising she needed a few minutes to recover from before. She had always been really shy about attention, even if she didn't act like it sometimes.

"Alright! Everybody, grab a seat with your teammates, and we'll begin filming shortly!" Mercedes announced, and Sam gave her shoulder one last squeeze, and got up to seat himself next to Artie at the other end. Quinn took his place, leaning over to catch her eyes, satisfying herself that she wasn't in the doghouse when Santana rolled her eyes amusedly at her.

"One day, your eyes are going to fall out of your head, you know?" She muttered, as Rachel came over, smiling giddily at the fact that Artie had listened to her talk about 'The Glass Menagerie' without once complaining. She gave Quinn a wide beam, as she sat next to the blonde, primly crossing her legs.

"I'd be glad; I won't be able to see everyone wondering if I was insane every time they looked at me from now on."

Quinn just rolled her eyes right back at her.


	5. The Cast

A/N: I'm seriously astounded by the feedback. really, it means a lot to me-this was just supposed to be a side project. you have no idea how much it brightens my day when...just. thank you.

this is just a filler chapter, kind of. for everyone of you who would like to know a bit more about the characters themselves in this world. so, enjoy!

BrittzTana: I hope i didn't disappoint! Haha, maybe she does, maybe she doesn't. I'm not too sure at the moment, but it seems that way, right? Also, i guess a large majority of them, plus a lot of recurring characters. at least, that's the plan!

snixxjuice214: *does a little happy dance that you have reviewed again* Yay! hopefully, you'll like this as well-the characters are a bit more fleshed out.

CeeBeeGeeBee: thank you so much! i hope you like what i have planned for them as well!

ArmadilloPretzels: *sends a virtual hug for reviewing again* oh gosh, thank you! it's a huge consideration when i write it,so it means a lot when you point it out! *also: yes, hopefully you like what games i have planned!*

* * *

"Alright, pretty people. Settle down." Mercedes shouted, as she watched the celebrities settle into the chairs. Her heart was thumping with anticipation-the show had been in the works for a long time now, and god, she wanted nothing more than for this to work. Thank god she had found a patron in Sue Sylvester, even if the woman only knew how to wear tracksuits and had a penchant for calling her names.

In that aspect though, Mercedes was immune-she _was_ friends with Santana Lopez.

Clapping her hands, she stood with her back to cameras, eyes travelling down the row, counting off.

Santana, Quinn, Rachel, Sugar, Finn, Noah, Brittany, Mike, Sam, Artie. All accounted for.

"Before we begin filming, I know you all have questions, but all I can say is that you have to wait. We need to get you set up with mics, and touch up on some of your makeup. Just really lightly, because I'm pretty sure you'll sweat it all off soon enough." She grinned, thinking of the game they had planned for this first episode. "Tina! Tina, get in here!"

The head makeup artist rushed in, juggling a huge bag in the crook of her arm, her hands carrying a huge case that contained the clip-on microphones. She was scowling slightly, sighing as she set them down next to Mercedes, giving her a meaningful look.

"_Someone_ wasn't here to pass them out when you called."

The host rolled her neck. "Do not tell me Jacob-"

"Yeah, he said he ate those tortillas that we set out this morning."

"We haven't even started properly." Mercedes mumbled, feeling the beginnings of her migraine.

"Well, at least you can tell them that the first Porta Potty is taken. Probably for the rest of the afternoon. Some of the guys are moving the others away." Tina made a face, thinking of the smell she had gotten a whiff of, as she had rushed from the film site to get to the tent.

"Alright. Thanks. Everyone," the host put her smile back on her face, as she turned to the celebrities behind her. "-this is Tina Cohen-Chang. She's the person you be nice to, unless you want to wash out on camera or look like Cruella's evil twin."

Everyone tittered their hellos, as Santana smirked with a new thought. Cohen-Chang, eh? She already had the perfect nickname for her.

The makeup artist set her bag down, and set to work laying out her tools of the trade-blushers, eyeshadow, brushes, eyeliner. She called them down one by one, starting from Artie, who stiffly got up, waving off Sam's offer of help. She began, inching in close to him, and Artie couldn't help but take in a sniff of her perfume. Light. Huh.

"Hey, I listen to your music." Tina said, smiling slightly, and Artie returned it, trying not to move so much, as she lightly dusted powder over his cheeks.

"Thanks. It means a lot."

"You sound tired." She gives him a quirked eyebrow. Artie let a sound of amusement bubble out of his throat.

"I'm just not used to using my legs so much so early in the morning."

"We can do this by your chair, if you want." She asked, suddenly worried, pulling back. Artie shook his head, hating that it had slipped out without thinking.

"No thanks. I'm good. We're fine."

"You sure." She still looked hesitant, and Artie nodded. Sometimes, he really hated his prosthetics. Giving him a last disbelieving look, she stepped back, and resumed her work, taking her time to outline his eyes. When she deemed him camera-worthy, he smiled and went back to his seat, and Sam stepped up.

"Oh, hey, you play...Doug, right? On that tv show. That super-boy or something." Tina welcomed him closer, holding a foundation compact in her hand.

"The Man Who Saved the World. Yeah, that's me." Sam smiled, shaking his hair out, as he let her do her work. "You worked on the makeup crew for a week or something, right?"

Tina blushed, her movements faltering. "I can't believe you remember that. Yeah, I was filling in for one of the crew-I was doing a bit of Broadway makeup as well."

"Really? Wow, I'm impressed."

"I don't watch your show as often as I want to, though. Sorry." She laughed, selecting a chapstick from an impressive mess at the bottom of her bag. "Here, you might want this."

Sam's eyes lit up with laughter. "Why, thank you." Tina grinned back, as she smoothed out a last bit of powder around his eyes. "Alright. You're good."

"Thanks."

Sam switched with Mike, and the host bounded up, a curious look in his face. He smiled. "Hello."

Tina blushed, leaning down to pick the correct tone of foundation. "Hey. I'm Tina." She introduced, standing straight and offering her free hand. He took it, squeezing lightly.

"Mike. Nice to meet you."

"You too." She hesitated slightly, as she asked him to close his eyes. When he did, she exhaled gently, and went to work, brushing the foundation over his eyelids. They shared no more words, and soon enough, he was done.

Brittany slapped hands with Mike as she went past, laughing at the smile he had to give her. She skipped towards Tina, clasping her hands behind her. "Hey." She said, drawing out the word and making Tina smile back at her.

"Hello there, Ms Pierce."

"Brittany. Calling me that reminds me of Sue's PA."

"Noted." Tina couldn't help but notice the freckles sprayed across her nose she really didn't want to cover up with makeup, so she left them there, only lightly sprinkling over them with loose powder. "I like your show."

"Thank you. It pays the bills." She said, making Tina look up at her.

"Oh, so you don't like it."

"No, I love it." Tina raised an eyebrow bemusedly, pursing her lips slightly to get her to do the same. "Like, more than life. Mike's a great _friend_." She was emphasizing the word. Tina just nodded.

Brittany grinned. "You like doing makeup?"

"I get to meet interesting people."

"Like me?" She was clearly teasing, and Tina stepped back and laughed. Brittany wasn't waiting for an answer though-she winked and thanked her, before dancing back to her seat.

The mohawked man came up next, smirking. "Hello, lady. I'm Puck."

"I'm pretty sure your name was Noah." Tina joked back, telling him to stay still as she dusted tan powder across his cheeks. Puck rolled his eyes with no malice, and winked at her.

"Well, whatever makes the ladies happy, right? I don't normally go for Asian Delight till Fridays, but-"

"I will stop you right there, or else I'll call security." Tina shook her head, having already prepared before for the flirting-force that was Noah Puckerman. Always at a different party, always with a different girl.

"Aw, alright." He smirked, used to getting shot down. He didn't mind, though-he had a feeling she would make a great pal. "But if you ever change your mind-"

"Not even if you were the last man on Earth, sir." She deadpanned, finishing on his lips. At that, Puck laughed, smearing the lipstick, and Tina shook her head as she bent down to retrieve a lipstick wipe. "Stop moving!"

"Never had someone say that to me in bed before." He quipped, darting out of the way once she was done, giving her a thumbs up.

"Despicable." Tina stated, loud enough for him to hear. The guitarist laughed even louder.

"Don't mind him; he doesn't mean it half the time." Finn assured her, looking down at her from his height. Tina suddenly felt really tiny, and she took a step back. Finn grinned boyishly, till he got the hint, and knelt down in front of her. "Man, these were new jeans."

"Sorry. It won't be long." She proceeded to do the drummer up, humming lightly.

"So, I'm Finn."

"Tina. You and Artie and Puck and Fabray over there are Not Indie, right?"

"Yeah. The record label thought it was hilarious to name us that-but we don't mind it much now." He explained, sensing the unasked question. Tina let a giggle slip, bending at the hips to dab a little gloss onto his bottom lip with her pinky.

"It's funny. I find it ironic."

"Quinn didn't. She told me it was stupid. But hey."

"Quinn doesn't have a sense of humour, then."

"Oh, no. She does. Just the same kind as Santana, half the time. They're best friends."

"Really?"

"Yeah. They stay together and all. Were friends before coming to the industry, apparently. I mean, they way they act, it kinda makes sense."

"Close?"

"Closer than sisters. You'll see."

"I guess I will." She smiled, stepping back, and Finn got up, wincing slightly at the ache in his joints. Still, he thanked her and went back, beginning a conversation with his bandmate, as Sugar stepped up.

"Sugar Motta. But I'm sure you know me already."

Tina nodded slowly, biting down on her lip to stifle the laugh. Sugar had a YouTube channel where she basically talked, and Tina was a fan, really. The girl had no censor, that was for sure. Half the time, Tina was afraid the government would burst into her house and arrest her for her latest video or something.

She wondered if the girl was different in person.

"That I do. A big fan." Tina introduced herself, beckoning her closer, before realising that she didn't need to put makeup _on_-rather, she had to take some of it _off_.

"Sugar, I'm gonna have to take this off, you know?"

"What, your shirt? I don't think I'd want to see that, even if all the boys-especially Mike-would."

Tina spluttered, staring at the girl who played with the hem of her pink suit jacket. Was that _fur-lined_? "Your makeup! I meant your makeup!"

"Oh. Why didn't you just say so?"

Yep. Just the same as on her channel. Tina inwardly chortled, as she set to work taking it all off, staining a cloth with makeup remover.

"So...Artie's cute, isn't he?" She stated nonchalantly, and Tina could feel her eyes on her face, and she scrunched her nose up.

"Well, yeah. But not really my type. Isn't he like, a year older than you?"

"Really? What about Mike? His abs are hot."

Tina blushed, turning a deep shade of red. "I guess."

"Really? You guess? I'd tap that."

Quickly, Tina put on some blush, and stepped back, not wanting to say any more. "Alright!" She said, a bit too loudly for their close proximity. "You're done!"

Sugar winced, but there was a twinkle to her eyes. "I'm right in front of you, you know. Not in like, the bathroom or whatever." She said, referencing a video in which she had been puking up in the toilet bowl after a 'wild, wild, wild party', and hadn't heard her father calling her till he was yelling right into her ear. An absolutely wonderful tune when you had a hangover the size of China.

Smirking, she waggled her fingers, and went back to her seat, giving Rachel a wide berth-that girl had been trying to talk to her the entire time they had been sitting down, but seriously, who had time for that when she could be tweeting to all her followers about what shampoo she used?

Tina eyed Rachel Berry warily, well-used to seeing her from her circuits on the Broadway stage.

"Hey, Rach."

"Tina! How amazing to see you! I had no idea you were going to be working this!" Well, ok. Maybe she wasn't that bad. Sometimes.

Chuckling slightly, Tina decided she just needed to put on a lighter toned powder for the star, since she was barely wearing any at the moment.

"Neither did I. Sylvester called last week, and then Mercedes. I had no choice in the matter, really."

"Well, I'm glad you're here." And Tina could see she meant it-she knew how difficult handling Rachel Berry could be. Having a familiar face around was probably settling her nerves.

"Glad I could be here. You're good, by the way." Tina grinned, before shooing her away. Rachel nodded, and threw a quick thanks over her shoulder.

Tina took a deep breath. Alright. The last two. She already had a feeling they would be a whole other situation completely.

Quinn Fabray walked lightly, her hair bouncing as she stopped in front of Tina, clasping her hands in front of her. "Quinn."

"Tina." She gave a smile, and was quickly rewarded with one herself. The lead singer was probably the second person she was most nervous for, and that was because she was the biggest fan ever. Tina went to every single concert and watched every single interview for her, and she didn't want to mess up in front of her.

As she set to work, the blonde smirked. "Don't be nervous. I'm not going to bite you." Oh, but she could. Tina also knew the stories of how cutthroat she could be, towards people that crossed her. She had heard the stories of how she had fired three different agents, because they kept pushing for nude photoshoots, or Playboy. She had heard the stories of how even Sue Sylvester didn't dare get on her bad side, in fear or respect, no one could really tell.

So, yeah. She kind of guessed that she had every right to be nervous. "Sorry." She said, forcing herself to remain professional, as she touched up on the artist's makeup. Just like Rachel, there wasn't much to do-she wondered how someone could always look so effortlessly pretty _all the time_. She was even daring enough to guess that Quinn probably never had acne in her life.

"Don't be. I know I can be quite intimidating." She said simply, her breath ghosting over the makeup artist's face.

"Well, there are the, what, thousands of platinum records you guys have?"

"I think you mean millions." Quirking her lips, Quinn closed her eyes as Tina ran a little eyeliner over her lids. "And thank you."

"No problem." Tina smiled, feeling her nerves settle. She was willing to bet that Quinn was nice, under all the closed armour she usually wore. "I think that's all I have to do for you."

"Really?" The blonde cracked open an eye. "Well, thank you for making this painless." She stepped back, and smiled at her. "Oh, and don't worry about Santana. She'll try to feel you out, but don't back down, alright?"

Confused, but still grateful for the tip, Tina nodded, reassured.

If she had been nervous for meeting Quinn, Tina was beyond that for Santana. Quick, witty, and sarcastic, Santana probably scared a lot of people. It didn't help that legends of her sometimes short temper weren't always exaggerated. In her line of work, Tina had to interact with all kinds, but she didn't want to think that Santana Lopez would give her any trouble.

"Hey, Other Chang." Santana sauntered up, hands tucked into her pockets, her signature smirk firmly on her lips. Santana, though smaller than Quinn, somehow managed to exude a confidence that instantly made you respect her. Still, since Tina's job required her to be friendly to all her clients, it didn't take long for her to find the tiny spark of warmth in her dark eyes. Santana was merely guarded, Tina settled. Much like her best friend.

A trait like that never hurt in their line of business.

"Excuse me?" Still, she couldn't help but be perplexed. The nickname was odd, and yet, somehow, Tina knew it would stick.

"Other Chang. Are you and Mike related, or something?"

"No." Tina was reminded of her tendency to stutter in awkward situations. She supposed it meant a lot that her body wouldn't let her do that right now. "We've just met today."

"Really? Because the amount of sexual tension there is thicker than the clogging cologne Puck bathes in." Tina had to suppress a laugh, because that had been what she was thinking while doing the guitarist's makeup.

About the cologne. Not the sexual tension.

"Well." She stated, not saying much else, and Santana raises an eyebrow, which made Tina remind her about staying still-she very nearly smeared the mascara.

"Oh. I see. You two playing the waiting game?"

"What? No."

"Ah, playing hard to get?"

"No, I just think that he's out of my league, is all." Even though she had been working on the same set as her for a short week, Tina had never actually met the actress. Now, she was slightly grateful for that fact.

"Huh." Santana said, and Tina felt her eyes roam her face. "Oh, well, none of my business, anyway. I was just wondering if I would be able to use 'Asian Fusion' to describe the two of you; I'll probably use it anyway."

Blushing, Tina made her pucker up. "That's incredibly racist."

"It's an affectionate term used between friends." Santana shot back, and Tina mentally patted herself on the back for making the Lopez smirk even more noticeable with the red lipstick.

"If you say so."

"Am I good, Other Chang?"

Stepping back, Tina realised that it actually had taken her about the same time as Quinn to get Santana ready for the cameras. Shaking her head slightly, she sighed, wondering if everyone _but_ her could wake up in the morning looking that pretty.

"Sure."

Santana paused, as she watched Tina pack up her tools. "I like you, Asian 2. This time, stick around longer than a week, will you?"

Tina stilled, as Santana walked back to her seat, getting caught by Mercedes halfway there. Her heart thumped slightly.

Had Santana actually implied that she had seen her on her set before? Actually, now that she thought about it, had Santana Lopez actually implied that they were _friends_?

As she watched Mercedes clip a mic to Santana's shirt, the Latina glanced back at her and smirked again.

Huh. Maybe she hadn't had any reason to be worried after all.


	6. Santana: 1, Brittany: 0

A/N: Sorry about the wait! Anddd here it is! *to speed up the pace a little, i wrote more* So, i was thinking, if any of you had any questions whatsoever about the story or something, that i could maybe start to do little things like releasing the character's biographies or something somewhere. drop a review or pm me to tell me what you think about it?

also, this story will be a quite gradual movement of their relationship; but Brittana is always on, and Santana will be bold in the next chapter, at the rate things are looking. so...look forward to that!

UraniumLullaby: thank you! i just wanted to flesh the world out a bit more, make it a little more 3D, because i've read stories that are so focused on the main characters, that i sometimes forget about the others.

ArmadilloPretzels:your consistency is seriously encouraging me! here's more about the show-which isn't really much of a concept at all, as you will see-but i hope you enjoy it!

*my computer isn't spell-checking anymore, *cries the tears of a thousand sorrows* so any mistakes are dully mine!*

Disclaimer: Glee does not belong to me. If it did, this would probably happen.

* * *

The B-tapes were rolling. Santana could feel them on her, piercing her, as they had ever since she had entered the tent. And as before, she didn't fidget.

Instead, she crossed her arms.

_Well_, she reflected, _this was an interesting turn of events_. As crew ran around them, announcing the start of prime filming, Santana watched dispassionately, fiddling with her mic.

"Excited?" Quinn whispered, leaning in close. Her best friend could have passed off as uninterested, but the excitement in her eyes was clear to Santana. She was tempted to roll her eyes and snap a mean comment, but from over her shoulder, Santana saw Brittany deep in conversation with Mike and Artie.

Her heart thudded. _Maybe…_

Mindful of the really sensitive device clipped to her collar, she whispered back just as softly.

"Fucking ecstatic."

Quinn rolled her eyes at the strange reply.

"Alright, people. This is how it's going to go!" Mercedes was different today-all charged and jumping, but in the best way. There was a lightness in her eyes that Santana only ever saw when her friend felt truly comfortable in her surroundings-in a dark Christmas cabin surrounded by melting candles, across the table from a certain someone, in the presence of friends.

Most importantly though, in front of the camera. Santana never really thought her friend as free unless she was doing what she loved; the woman was always antsy and too much, even for her big frame.

The sound of Rachel's voice knocked her out of her thoughts. "...asking about the activity for the safety of the participants! I would just really like to confirm my thoughts about sending myself into this game-I have not yet signed the talent release forms, I'll have you know."

"Rachel, the point of this show is putting you guys into uncomfortable situations. None of you are supposed to know about the games beforehand. That spoils the fun." Mercedes was standing in front of the intimate line-up, legs shoulder-length apart and planted. She really had no time for Rachel Berry at the moment. Time was running, and they needed the day's light.

"I don't mean to sound like a jerk," Puck started, piping up as well, as he leaned forward in his chair, dark eyes unusually sharp. "-or maybe, I do. But dude, a little heads up? I mean," he ran his hand through the strip of hair on his head, smiling rakishly. "-I had to leave behind this totally sexy redhead in my bed, and-"

"Finish that sentence, Puckerman, and you'll pay for it in the game." Was all he got as a reply, making Santana stifle a laugh in the back of her throat. Oh, now she was intrigued.

Mercedes's body language as she began again was clear: everyone was to stop asking the dumbest questions known to men, and let her finish. "As I was saying...I'll introduce the show, and then we'll do a bit of an introduction of y'all, and finally, you'll get your last mission for today."

"Wait, that's it? This is the first episode?" Sam asked, a bit let down. He had been looking forward to playing the games-he had been having fun guessing and completing the missions so far. If that was all he was going to get...

"Remember, this _is_ just the pilot. We have the thumbs-up for five episodes so far; but the number might change depending on viewership. Don't worry," Mercedes was smirking, a face that Santana very rarely saw on her. "-this is just the beginning."

"Mercedes, we're good to go!" One of the numerous producers yelled, and Santana caught Jake's eyes from where he stood at the back of the mess. The man gave her a grin and a thumbs-up. Santana nodded back.

"Alright! Places, everybody!" The host yelled, making her way to the empty seat in between Brittany Pierce and Puck. Giving them both encouraging smiles, the host signaled to who Santana would have guessed would have been the main producer.

He nods. "And...5," The older man was beginning the countdown, his oddly pitched voice loud and commanding. Clunky headset hung on his head, pulled apart from an ear with a hand, whilst the other ticked off the numbers with his fingers. Santana felt a kind of anticipation.

"4." She sat up, sensing Quinn do the same, and even if they would never admit it, it felt comforting to know that they were in this together.

"3." The crew shuffled, rustling noises the only sound besides Mercedes's throat-clearing.

"2." Santana suddenly felt like filing her nails.

The last number wasn't said, as always, and the false calm on the set popped as the host began her speech.

"Hello, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the very first episode of Glee, a gameshow as you've never seen it before!" There was a moment in which Santana felt like she should clap, but she knew somehow that this second was probably running with a soundtrack. So she stayed put, gripping the edges of her chair for something to do.

There was amusement in Mercedes's tone though, a sort of knowing amusement that spoke of how much she enjoyed keeping them in the dark and watching them squirm.

"As you can see, there are some _very_ familiar faces in the tent with me, and that's because they're the stars for this show. Of course, they're a _bit_ uncomfortable at the moment, and I'm sure it's because they were dragged out of bed way too early this morning. Especially Santana." The cast laughed, relaxing slightly, as they settled. Santana playfully glared, no anger behind the action.

"Today, you will probably have seen your stars as never before-up close and unhidden-as they all compete against each other for the ultimate prize of the Golden Lungs." Mercedes flashed her pearly whites. "I could tell you what the show is about, but that would spoil the fun; wouldn't it, guys?"

This time, everyone nodded.

"Like a bullet to my head." Santana added, leaning against the back of her chair more. She wished Mercedes would quit the dramatics. She just wanted to beat these guys and win whatever it was she was supposedly competing for.

(Anything with the word 'gold' in it? Totally worth it.)

(Bling was bling was bling.)

Santana snapped out of her staring contest when a crew member she found vaguely familiar came to her side, clutching an armful of writing boards and markers. He passes them to her with a small smile, and she blinks momentarily till she realises that she's suppsoed to pass it down. Keeping a set for herself, she dumped the rest onto Quinn's lap and enjoyed the scowl shot her way with relish.

"Do you all have your boards?" Mercedes asked, having taken one for herself and passed the rest along the row. When everyone nodded and affirmed, she smiled. "Good. Just to get the audience acquainted with you guys, in case they don't know you, we're just going to have a small competition to introduce you all. Besides, I'm sure for some of you, this is your first time meeting each other, so take this as a great way to get to know your cast!"

She sounded like a kindergarten teacher past her prime. Snorting at the thought, Santana decided not to voice it out loud. She didn't want it to come back to bite her in the ass later on.

"Alright, so it's easy: trivia. Each team is competing for points, and the team with the most unanimously correct answers for each question gets the points. Get it?"

It wasn't rocket science. Besides, they had this in the bag. Santana was an avid stalker of other celebrities-and unsurprisingly, she was going to nail every single question pertaining to a certain someone in the room-while Quinn found her secret delight in the gossip mills of Hollywood. And Rachel had…something.

Ah well. She was bound to get some answers right.

"First question!" Mercedes had pulled some cards from her pocket-she was flipping through them, looking for the appropriate question. Her slowly widening smirk had Santana uncapping her marker quickly. Wheezy definitely had something up her sleeve.

And indeed, Mercedes had. This was the perfect opportunity to embarrass these people-Santana especially. Reading a particular question, she couldn't resist the urge to crow loudly. "Payback time, Satan! First topic: Santana Lopez!" There were a couple of giggles, but they quickly died down as Mercedes began. "Answer this in ten seconds! On March 3rd, 2017…"

"Oh, Christ in a barn." Santana muttered, dropping her face into her palms, wishing she could go back to that day two years ago and change everything. Maybe beginning with strangling herself, for starters.

Next to her, Quinn's shoulders were shaking, well in the know about what the host was talking about.

Mercedes noted the confused look from a few of the cast members, and grinned widely as she continued. "-the newly famous Santana and her roommate and best friend, Quinn Fabray, walked into a bar on the West Side. Already drunk from a celebrity party just before, what non-existent drink did Santana try to order, despite being told repeatedly that it didn't exist?" A couple of the other celebrities began to laugh, remembering the press scandal. Ah, how could they have forgotten?

"Was it:

A) Panda Fart;

B) Belfast Car Bomb;

C) Slippery Nipple; or

D) Blonde Fantasy?"

Roaring laughter filled the tent, as everyone heard the names of the drinks. They certainly weren't ones that they were familiar with. Mike was laughing at the first option; it sounded like something his grandma would try to cure her fever with.

"Not fair! I'm not legal!" Sugar yelled, pouting when Puck only laughed harder at the indignation on his teammate's face. He wasn't trying to be mean, but goddamn, any of the options sounded plausible. Like, what the hell was a Slippery Nipple?

"You have ten seconds to write your answer down! Go!"

Still chuckling, Puck began to ponder his choices. All of them were equally ridiculous, but he had a feeling that the last option was the correct answer. He had known the woman for a few years now, and though he had only seen her date a few guys, he thought he could guess her type. If she really was drunk-and hadn't started blubbering yet (sad drunk, she was)-then she would have probably been really horny.

Scribbling the letter onto his board, he leaned forward to catch a glimpse of Santana's mortified face as she filled in her own.

"Time! Everyone but Santana, show the cameras your answers!"

Quinn let slip another giggle, muffling the rest with her hand and Rachel had a wide smile on her face as she took the opportunity to beam at her adoring fans, that would no doubt be watching the show when it aired.

"Let's see…Artie, Mike and Finn have 'A' and 'C'. Sugar, you have…'B'. Brittany, Sam, Quinn, Rachel, and Noah put down 'D'." Santana made a mental note to throttle the woman after filming. She was enjoying this way too much.

"Santana, why don't we lift our boards up at the same time?" Mercedes smiled, her eyes twinkling at the embarrassment Santana was no doubt showing in her face.

Santana sighed, lifting her board in front of her face as she tried not to cringe visibly. A loud, black D stained the surface, and Puck jumped out of his seat as he whooped.

"Why are you so happy, Puckerman? Your team still lost." Santana scowled, rolling her eyes at his sudden 'goddamn it!' face. Quinn kicked her shin-a feat, considering they were sitting down and next to each other-glaring at her from the side of her eyes. Santana didn't feel too bad about her jibe though, since Quinn was still smirking slightly, and everyone was still chuckling at that horrible, horrible memory.

"Be nice, San."

"To be fair, I had had twelve different cocktails in me by then." Was all she said in her defense, directing it at the entire cast.

"So you didn't just cry that night, you told everyone who you wanted in bed." Puck grinned slimily, waggling his eyebrows at her. Calmly, Santana flipped him off, her eyes traveling down the row to catch on blues.

Brittany Pierce was staring at her, an amused smile on her face. If Santana hadn't been blushing before-because she hadn't-she definitely was now. Coughing, she looked away, running a hand through her hair. "Moving on!" She really hoped Mercedes had equally embarrassing questions for everyone else.

Especially Puckerman. Oh, she would enjoy taking Puckerman down in the games later.

"Alright, alright, settle down. Red team gets a point!" Mercedes clapped, as Quinn high-fived Rachel and smirked at Santana. "Next question!" Mercedes flipped through her cards, her eyes lighting up. "Artie Abrams!"

Santana grinned.

"Artie spent the first few years of his life in which country?" Ah, simple enough. Santana remembered teasing him about it back when they first met and the label hadn't made him lose his accent. "Ten seconds, and…go!"

The lack of options didn't bother her, as she quickly scribbled across her board, cursing lightly when her writing became smudged with her hand's movements. Next to her, she could see Quinn noting down the same answer.

"3…2…1! Stop!" She heard Sugar sigh loudly, and looked up to see her pout. She didn't seem to have known the answer.

"And lift!" As Santana did so, she tried to see what everyone else had written.

"Santana, Quinn, Noah, Mike, Sam and Finn all have the same answer." Wait, where was Rachel's name? She lunged forward and nearly bashed herself with her board when she saw what the Broadway star had written.

"South Africa? It's a trick question-he's American! He's from Texas! Damnit, Rachel, I thought you were his fan!" Santana hissed, dropping her head into Quinn's lap, who just shook her off.

"…and blue team gets this one!" Santana groaned, but settled for a hard glare in Rachel's direction. The star ignored her, apologetically catching Artie's eye from across the distance. The teen just winked.

"Number 3 concerns…Samuel Evans!" Mercedes read the question once, twice. Then she laughed. "Alrighty then. Before his big break, what job did Sam do?"

"Was it:

A) Club Bouncer

B) Backup Dancer

C) Stripper

D) Pizza Delivery Boy

"Wait a second!" Quinn cried out. "Multiple answers are allowed, right?" Good old Quinn. Santana was just about to ask the same question herself.

Mercedes shrugged, relenting. "There is just one right answer. Ten seconds, begin!"

Santana huffed. Did they mean the most recent job? Or the ones that the fans knew about? Rolling her eyes, Santana put down 'C'. Heh. Judging from the blush on her co-star's face, she was pretty sure that he thought his PR team had gotten rid of the rumours before he had gotten too famous.

It's Hollywood. They had teams dedicated to finding out what people had to hide.

"And time! Show me those answers, everybody!" Everyone burst out laughing when Sam lifted his up, realising that everyone had the same answer.

"For those of you at home who didn't know," Mercedes began, winking at the blonde man. "-Sam used to be a stripper to make rent."

Sam, despite his blush, had to chuckle, and add, "I was White Chocolate."

Smirking, Santana called, "You sure it wasn't Guppy Lips?"

"Pretty sure. I had to wear, or not, a fireman costume. So maybe they thought that would've been kind of ironic."

Amdist the laughs, Sugar begins to whoop for him to take his clothes off. Surprisingly, Rachel joins in, followed by Mercedes and the guys cheering. Santana just sits back, enjoying watching the growing heat on his face, and Quinn's giggling from beside her.

As she does, once again, her eyes snag on Brittany. The blonde was hiding behind a hand, eyes sparkling, as the other pumps in the air as encouragement. If Santana was listening closely-oh, alright, she was-she could hear her letting out the occasional whoop.

Her heart fell. Was she straight? No one had been able to confirm it; papparazzi would sometimes catch her with a woman, but just as often, they would be able to snap pictures of her with a man. And Brittany was careful. She mostly stayed out of the spotlight, away from scandals, and most importantly, kept her private life just that, private.

Santana, on the other hand…

It would be just her luck if Brittany was.

Quinn nearly clipping her with her elbow jolted her out of her head, and she scowled as she slumped in her seat. That was when she noticed that Sam had actually done it-he was currently doing body rolls with his shirt in his hand, showing off his pale skin.

Santana sighed, watching her friend soak up the attention. Gosh.

Voice full of mirth, Mercedes spoke up. "Alright, alright, each team gets a point! Now, settle down! That means you too, Sam."

"I'll be back." Sam drawled, doing his best impersonation of Arnold Schwarzenegger. The cast laughed again.

"Lucky number 4 is…Brittany Pierce!" Santana sat up. She had this in the bag. Maybe she could impress the fitness host with how much she knew about her. Or would that be creepy? Like she was some sort of stalker or something?

"What is Brittany's middle name?" Wait. That was a tough question, she realised. Brittany never released her full name. When asked in an interview, she had replied with something along of the lines of 'wanting to make my own name in the business', whatever that meant. But Santana knew her mother's name was Susan Pierce. Maybe she was one of those kids that got to be named after their parents?

So _now_ Santana felt like a creep. God. She was pretty sure no one else in the room besides Brittany, of course, and maybe Mike, knew what her mother's name was.

_Overthinking it, Lopez. Stop being such a pussy, and write something down!_

With a slight scoff at her stupid thoughts, Santana did, penning down the name she was thinking of. She had nothing to lose, did she?

_Except your dignity. And maybe your shot with her._

Ah hell. The ten seconds seemed awfully long this time round. But finally, finally, Mercedes told them to hold their answers up.

"Puck, I doubt anyone has a middle name like _that_." Brittany was saying, having leaned forward to look. She seemed to be quite amused, and if Santana was right, smug that no one seemed to have the right answer.

"Babe, a description was the best thing I had." He joked, referring to the 'sexy' on his board.

Santana felt a twinge of heat in her stomach, which she quickly shoved away. It was bad enough that she couldn't seem to stop looking over-now she couldn't even stop feeling jealous?

Brittany laughed at Finn's name, and made a face at Sugar's. She nodded at Rachel's, and her eyes widened at Quinn's. "Close!" She cried, her face lighting up. Santana took a look. 'Samantha'.

Wasn't that her grandma's name? (Definitely stalker territory.) She had said that it was close. Did that mean that Santana could be right?

Brittany moved on, her blue eyes stilling on Santana's. A beat, as everyone waited to hear what she had to say.

Her jaw dropped.

_What did that mean? Holy shit, did I get it right? _

Slowly, Brittany lifted her own board, and Santana saw the name, written in bubbly writing.

'Susan'.

Santa Maria, she _had_ gotten it right! She was so tempted to stand up and do a victory dance, but didn't. Instead, she settled for letting the most satisfied smirk ever grace her face, raising an eyebrow challengingly.

Score for Santana.

* * *

"Second last question!" Already, they had gone through Sam, Sugar, Puck, Finn and Rachel, leaving only Quinn and Mike. Santana's team had been doing well for itself, but they were tied with Mike's team. Brittany's team wasn't far behind-only one point separated them. So they needed to get this question right, if they wanted to win and not tie with anyone else.

"Mike Chang is our next topic of interest." Mercedes smiled, waving the note in the air. Santana's brow furrowed slightly. "His question: According to Chinese medicine, what does one eat when having a fever? Is it:

A) Ginger Cubes;

B) An Infusion of Tiger's Testicle and Ginger;

C) Panda Hair soaked in Ginger; or

D) A Monkey's Fur?"

Mercedes made a face. "Personally, y'all, and no offense to anyone, but damn. I wouldn't eat any of this even if I was dying." She commented, giving Mike, who was grinning goofily, a look. The Asian man gave a bark of laughter, before settling to poise his marker above the board.

"Ten seconds. Go!"

Santana's lips were still twisted with disgust. "It sounds like something my grandma would do." She muttered, wondering which one she was going to put down. At this point, winning wasn't even the issue.

At this point, Santana figured, all she wanted to do was not be eliminated so that maybe, just maybe, she could talk to the person she had been pining after on her tv set for so long.

Which sounded so juvenile and so _high school_ that she wanted to smack herself in the head for it. God, that place and time was horrible enough the first time.

"4…3…" Oh shit. She still hadn't written an answer. On a whim, she decided to put down the least grossest thing. 'A' it was.

"…and time! You know the drill!"

As she lifted her board, Quinn nudged her and asked, "What did you put down? Rachel and me both have 'A'."

"Funny thing, that. It was the least grossest thing I could imagine eating from that list."

"Here's to hoping that we get lucky." Quinn muttered, waiting for the result. Mike still had his down, a knowing smile on his face. Mercedes tallied the numbers.

"Red team has the same answer…Brittany and Sam have the same as the red team. Everyone else is different." She nodded to Mike, who lifted his own with a broad smile, and Santana couldn't resist the small wiggle she did in her seat.

"Yes!" She kicked her sneaker out against the dusty ground in her excitement. Victory was close! Beside her, Rachel was clapping maniacally, and Quinn afforded a bright smile.

Mercedes watched Santana celebrate, while everyone else groaned and made comments about the question, which Mike defended with a grain of salt. She noticed, particularly, that while Brittany was laughing with Mike, her eyes kept fluttering to Santana, who had finally stopped enough to high-five Quinn and even Rachel. Mercedes's mouth curved when she realised that Brittany had been doing that ever since the game started.

She would bet her Taters that something was going to happen about it.

"Last question coming up!" Santana perked, ready and tense, even though she had a really good feeling about it. Obviously, the last question was about…

"Quinn Fabray, who is last but in no terms least! Get ready guys and gals, this is quite tough!" Ha. She was best friends with the girl. There was practically nothing that she didn't know or couldn't guess about her.

"When she was younger, Quinn had a favourite band, that still is her guilty pleasure today. In an interview, she had said once, she had skipped out of summer camp with Santana Lopez and taken a weekend roadtrip via Greyhound on her mother's credit card to get to Austin, Texas to watch them perform. They were only 13 at the time. Which band is it?"

Santana had to blush and laugh at the same time. Quinn could only grin dorkily, as she no doubt remembered the same scolding they had gotten from both sets of parents. Also, the subsequent grounding. But Santana had no regrets about tagging along-it was one of those few times when Quinn had actually been honest with herself for _wanting_ something.

Nothing made Quinn happier than music. And in Santana's opinion, with all the shit they had had to put up with in Lima, the blonde deserved it.

"Your options are:

A) Panic At The Disco;

B) Arctic Monkeys;

C) Vampire Weekend;

D) Korn, and finally;

E) Jimmy Eat World."

"Hot damn, woman. Are we music soulmates or what?" Puck said loudly, making Quinn glare at him. Unobtrusively, Santana put her hand on her friend's back, reminding her of where they were. This wasn't the time.

"Music-wise, yes. Not much else." Quinn smiled anyway, the kind she did when someone asked her a really embarrassing question in an interview. Santana nodded to Mercedes to begin the countdown.

"Alright, 10…9…"

Santana awkwardly scribbled 'B' onto the board, keeping her left hand where it was, her unfamiliarity with her right showing in the penmanship.

"And…lift!" Santana had hers up already, leaning across to make sure Rachel had the same answer, grinning satisfactorily when she saw she did. And though it was both premature _and_ immature, Santana couldn't resist the loud cry of delight bursting out of her throat, bumping the back of her head into Quinn's elbow in her haste to straighten. She didn't feel the pain though, as she crowed triumphantly.

"Boo yeah, suck on that, people! Look what we done did!"

"Looks like Santana's team wins this round!" Mercedes announced, and everyone else simultaneously groaned and applauded them. Santana took the moment to enjoy it as much as she could, bowing low with flourishing hands, giving out thank yous with the full intention of rubbing it in.

"Jeez, San. You can calm down now." Sam said, laughing slightly when Santana waggled her eyebrows at him and plopped back into her seat, crossing her arms and legs, proud. She even felt happy enough to compliment Rachel on her "not utterly lacking knowledge of people besides yourself".

Rachel thanked her with a roll of her eyes, as Quinn chuckled.

"I feel like I'm babysitting two year olds."

"I didn't know you _knew_ any two year olds." Santana riposted, smirking at her best friend. The blonde just shook her head, enjoying the fluttering in her chest.

"…and because of that, the Red Team is exempted from the penalty!" Wait, penalty? Santana tilted her head, tapping her fingers on her arms. That sounded great!

"What penalty?" Mike asked the question on the cast's mind, looking slightly worried. Mercedes waved him off.

"You didn't think it was just you guys winning things, right? Of course, the losers get punished. But don't worry," she snapped her fingers, as a crew member came over to hand something to her. "-the rest of you have the last game to get yourselves a 'get out of jail free' card."

Santana pulled her lips into her mouth. She was kind of intrigued about the punishment.

"Alright, y'all. Check beneath your chairs."

Scrunching her nose, Santana did as she was told and was mildly surprised to find a scarlet envelope underneath it. "Wheezy, why is there a letter waiting for me?"

"It's not fanmail, definitely. Pick it up." She loosened up even more in her chair, watching as the celebrities around her ripped into their respective envelopes-save for Santana and Quinn, everyone else had a white envelope. The host inwardly grinned in satisfaction.

_"Navigate the maze, finding five binoculars. Don't get caught!"_

Santana read the letter, listening to everyone reacting in some way. "Maze?" Quinn muttered, as Rachel made a disdained noise next to her. Santana scrunched her face, wondering what the game was about.

"This is a team mission." The cast fell silent as Mercedes began speaking again. "First team to reach the end with the binoculars win, and don't have to do the penalty."

"Just one?" Mike asked, slightly worried.

The host just smirked. "Be fast, then. Now, Santana and Quinn? Come here."

Exchanging quick confused looks, the two of them rose out of their chairs and walked over to where Mercedes had stood too, holding out whatever it was that she had gotten from the crew member. She motioned for their shoes.

"You two are the hunters." She explained, as she took their sneakers, and proceeded to attach the bells to them. Catching their eyes, she grinned. "Your mission is to try and pull off all their bandanas before they manage to find the binoculars and exit."


	7. Hide and Seek

A/N: I had to split up the game because it was getting too long, but I'll (hopefully) have the second part up by tomorrow!

For those of you wanting Brittana action, more of it's coming next update as well, so don't fret:)

UraniumLullaby: totally, haha:D i do have to agree with her that it's slightly creepy though:)

snixxjuice214: well, you really know how to make a girl feel special:) thank you! *and here i present to you a new chapter!*

Wankybrittana123: thank you so much! i promise it'll pick up in pace:) *haha, so now you finally get the game!*

CeeBeeGeeBee: thank you! *and i just realised this santana is pretty stalker-y. kinda reminds me of a friend i *

ArmadilloPretzels: yet another review from you? extremely flattered, thank you! *hopefully the dynamics don't get too complicated; unless you want it too, of course:)*

enjoy!

* * *

From her spot in front of Wheezy, Santana could see Artie and Sam's jaws drop, and she heard Puckerman curse. "We're screwed!"

"What? Why?" She heard Sugar ask, obviously not getting it.

"You see that evil grin on Satan's face? And the narrowed eyes and smirk on Quinn's?" At that, Santana had to laugh, as Sam cut in.

"They'll rip your bandana off with no mercy!"

"Unfair, Mercedes!"

"Shut it, Puckerman." Mercedes laughed, straightening and passing the shoes back. As Santana pulled hers on, she glanced over at the mohawked man and grinned.

"You scared, badass?"

"Terrified." Was all he said, his eyes wide and feet bouncing. Sam groaned and placed his head into his hands, with Artie laughing next to him. Mike and Brittany were giving each other weird looks, before Rachel piped up. "I demand a change! What about me? I am on their team!"

"No, you're not." Mercedes instructed, beckoning her closer. Pulling a piece of cloth from behind her, she excanged it for Rachel's. "You're with Uncle Sam here."

Sam jumped up and fist-pumped, looking entirely too happy for the new addition.

At which point, Santana deigned herself to add, "Good luck. The hobbit's going to be real useful looking for objects lower than your waist." The cast chuckled.

Before Rachel could retort, Mercedes was clapping her hands. "Alright, alright! Huddle up, everyone! We're heading to the maze right now!"

As the celebrities stood, the crew began to fiddle with all their equipment, saddling up and leading the way out of the tent, keeping a few cameras on them at all times. Marley and Jake bounded up next to them, this time both of them carrying clunky film cameras. Santana was glad to see them again, though she would never admit it.

"So we meet again." She smirked, experimentally shaking her feet to listen to them jingle loudly. This should be interesting.

"Well, we drew the short straws." Jake joked, his eyes twinkling. Entirely too familiar. Santana found herself wondering again why.

"Think we can do this?" Quinn asked, as they fell in behind everyone else, a few steps away, with Marley bringing up the rear, camera pointed at them. Jake walked backwards, carefully keeping the lens on the two stars he was supposed to be filming.

"Please, Fabray. It's us. I don't think anyone else has the benefit of having a close to forever's worth of coexistence. Besides," she softened, reaching up to pull her aviators over her eyes. "-even if we don't win, we're still out of the fire."

"Yeah, well. What about your bling?"

Santana turned to give her an incredulous face. "That word did _not_ just leave your mouth."

"What?" Quinn smirked, raising an eyebrow as she nimbly stepped over a hidden obstacle in the ground. "Don't think I don't know what you were thinking earlier."

Santana narrowed her eyes. "Fabgay, you couldn't read my mind even if someone forced you at gunpoint. I not only have razorblades in my hair-"

"You also have enough chemicals and hairspray to smother a giraffe. Heard it before." Quinn rolled her eyes, as Santana picked her way amongst some surprisingly well-maintained grass, the bells jingling with every step.

Watching her, Quinn was reminded of a much younger Santana. The girl that had spent her days running around the backyard, proclaiming her strength and determination in taking over the world. That was the same girl that had spent an entire afternoon once, with Quinn, doing nothing but reading magazines and pointing out which models they would hate, if they were models. It was the same girl that found a quiet sort of joy and contentment in silence, easily irritated if it were to be broken.

It was also the same woman that was currently stepping deliberately, creating a tune with the movement, enthralled and focused in her task.

"Is that the theme song from Spongebob?" A new voice joins them, and Santana recognises it so fast, that she actually stumbles. Luckily for her, strong arms catch her, steady. Exhaling from the bottom of her lungs, she looked up to thank her best friend for stopping her fall.

The words die on her lips as she is met with a different blonde than the one she was expecting.

"Hey there." Brittany was grinning, her cheeks rosy, and Santana was close enough to see the freckles dusting her nose.

"Um…ugh." Articulation failed her, and it wasn't till Quinn placed a hand on her shoulder, that she realised exactly why.

Brittany's arms were around her waist, hugging her flush to her lean body, supporting Santana's sagging weight easily. Flushing, Santana let out a little squeak.

"San?" Quinn seemed worried, but Santana knew her friend-she was enjoying every second of this.

"I'm going to let go now." Slowly, Brittany helped her straighten up, the smile never leaving her face. Santana gulped down yet another embarrassing noise, guffly adjusting her shirt. What was she doing here?

Brittany seemed unfazed, as she turned to Quinn and extended a hand. "I haven't introduced myself yet. I'm Brittany."

"Quinn." Slowly, the three began to fall in step with each other, trying not to lose the others even more than they already had. Marley and Jake fell back, deciding to film from further away. Besides, they had a conversation of their own they wanted to keep private.

"I just wanted to say hi." Brittany looked like one of those people that always smiled. It was obvious in the spring in her step, the tilt of her lips, the natural placing of her brows. Her entire being radiated happiness.

Santana was pretty sure she could count the number of times she smiled, proper, a day on one hand.

"Well, it's a real pleasure to meet you then." Quinn noticed her friend's silence and laughed inside. "Isn't it, Santana?" She nudged the Latina with the lightest brush of her arm.

Santana swallowed and nodded. "Yeah, of course. I'm…Santana."

Brittany's tilted her head, her lips still upturned. "You work with Sam, right?"

"Yes." Santana could feel Quinn's gaze on the side of her head-she knew she didn't sound like herself.

_Why don't you just drop down and beg her to scratch you behind your ear, huh?_

It took Santana a moment to realise she had missed a part of the conversation. "What?"

Quinn gave her a wry smirk. "I said, you watch 'Losing Champions' all the time, don't you?"

Santana wasn't blushing. Not at all. "I guess. When I have time." She refused to look at Quinn. She was too busy trying to remember how to speak. "So your middle name is Susan?"

Quinn had to turn away, stifling her laughter in her throat. This shy, unsure Santana was someone she rarely saw. Like that little girl that used to drag them both home to watch the latest episode of Spongebob Squarepants.

The blonde fell back slightly, letting Brittany naturally fall into the gap between her and Santana. She rejoined the duo on Brittany's left, leaning forward to wink at her best friend, who only blinked once at her.

Santana's attention was elsewhere, now that Brittany was next to her. Now, instead of trying to remember how to speak, she was also trying to remember how to breathe. And to not leer at the other woman.

Brittany nodded, her eyes narrowed. "How did you guess? I don't think I've ever talked about-"

"Santana Lopez, you get that fabulous ass here!" Mercedes was yelling, and Santana tried to figure out if she was happy for it, or not. Excusing herself with the smallest of smiles, she turned, exhaling deeply once she was sure she was safe.

"So smooth…" She muttered, rolling her eyes at her own stupidity. Great, now Brittany was going to think she was a dork.

"Santana!"

"I'm right here, Wheezy, quit your diva." She rolled her eyes again. "What's going on?" It was then that she realised they had reached their destination.

The tall walls looked sturdy, if not intimidating. They went up to well above Santana's head, making her crane her neck to see the top. The cast milled around, all surveying the space, murmuring amongst themselves. From the corner of her eyes, she saw Quinn join the back, Brittany by her side and trying to catch someone's gaze from the larger group.

"Quinn, you too." Mercedes motioned the other blonde over, who followed obediently, casually clasping her hands behind her straight back. "Alright, everybody. I'm going to explain the instructions to you-we begin filming soon. Basically, what's going to happen is," the host gestured with her hand. "-all of you," she pointed to the cast. "-enter first."

"You get two minutes of a head start, while Satan and Pretty Blonde with the White Girl Ass here will spend some time with me, before I set them loose to eliminate you. Your bandanas-" she tapped Santana's and the dark-haired woman self-consciously tightened it. "-are the only thing keeping you in the game. They take it off, you're eliminated."

"That's going to be difficult." Finn was probably smirking, but to Santana the Oaf looked like he had been asked to take a pee someplace he usually wouldn't be allowed to. "You have to untie it."

"You really think we're going to find that difficult?" Santana evilly raised an eyebrow. "Doughboy, you wish."

"Besides," Quinn pretended to inspect her nails. "-I hear fabric tears easily these days. I wonder how those would stand up against such sharp nails." She looked up to glare at him, satisfied when the bigger man blanched.

"Anyway!" Mercedes stepped back into the game. "There are only five binoculars in there, so good luck. We're ready to start filming. Feel free to take a few moments to stretch if you want to."

The cast nodded, bunching together into their own groups to discuss strategies. They glanced over occasionally, those more familiar with the duo vehemently deciding that they couldn't underestimate them.

Santana just smirked.

"…for you." Santana turned back to talk to Quinn, only to find her attention snagged away by the sight of Jake and Marley having a conversation of their own behind their cameras. They were speaking low enough to not be recorded, but they hadn't seemed to have realised that the breeze was bringing their words over to Santana perfectly.

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him."

"But you can't expect me to-"

"No, Jake. Please."

"I saw him looking at you!" Jake seemed agitated, taking Marley's hands into his own. His brow was furrowed, his mouth unhappy. Marley was pleading, her eyes wide. She didn't seem to be backing down on her point, whatever it was. For a moment, Santana wondered if she should be listening in.

"San, I…what are you looking at?" Quinn was turning her head to look, but Santana managed to stop her in time, grabbing her wrist and twirling them to face each other, the bells creating a loud noise. Santana cursed in her head. Feigning casualness, she shot a furtive glance over her shoulder.

Unfortunately, they seemed to have heard it, the ringing spoiling whatever moment they were having. Meaningfully, Jake frowned at his teammate. The brunette just turned away.

"Seriously, though. Jake. Doesn't he look like someone?" Santana pulled Quinn down to whisper into her ear. For some reason, the thought kept bothering her.

Quinn scrunched up her brow. "Does it matter? Maybe he has one of those common faces. Like Channing Tatum or something."

"Maybe." Santana sighed, trying to dispel those thoughts. They weren't important right now. What was, was the activity coming up. She didn't want to lose-her pride wouldn't stand for it.

"I was wondering if we had a strategy for the game? You know, besides win." Quinn seemed able to read her thoughts, helping her focus them herself.

She stared up the harmless-looking walls, wondering what lay inside. They needed to be fast, and lucky.

Thoughtfully, she ran her gaze across the cast members. Sam looked pumped, jumping on the spot as Artie gesticulated something using his hands to Mike and Rachel. On the other hand, Puck's team seemed to be more easy-going, laughing as the brunette-Sugar-rooted through her purse for something. Her eyes lingered on the blonde in the group, wondering what she thought of their first encounter.

God. _Not_ the time. Santana scowled at herself, wondering why she was fussing so much over a silly crush. Brittany probably got that enough from the fans-and no one else on her team seemed to be having the same trouble. It seemed dumb for her to.

Her eyes did narrow though, as she watched Puck sling an arm across the fitness show host's shoulders.

"Wanna play 'rock, paper, scissors' for dibs on Puckerman?"

* * *

Santana watched as Mercedes sent the teams into the entrance of the maze, a beyond wicked grin on her face. Santana began to wonder if she even liked the look on the host's face. Considering it's gotten her into trouble so many times before.

"Wheezy, while I should congratulate you on creating a show that even _I _wouldn't shudder to watch-and that is the highest compliment-I still have to wonder how devious you have to be to have been planning this for so long." Eyebrow arched, Santana played with the end of her bandana. Quinn was half paying attention; she was too busy looking something up on her phone behind her friend.

Mercedes takes two steps away from the entrance, eyes bright. "Well, Satan, we all need an outlet for our frustrations."

"So what did I do to get into your black book?"

At this, the host's lip curls. "Remember your second appearance on my show?" Santana thought, and then her eyes widened.

"Are you kidding me? That was years ago!"

"Not long enough, Lopez." Mercedes glared playfully. She wasn't angry with the Latina-oh, no.

Thanks to Santana's unexpected answers to her questions-on a live audience taping, no less-Mercedes's entire team had suffered a lot of press heat.

It had also caused them to become real close friends. Mercedes had come around to appreciate Santana's brutal honesty, her no holds barred wit. Of course, that wasn't the case at the start. They had been constantly dancing around the barrier of respect and pride. Neither wanted to back down and make the first move to apologise for anything-Santana, for coming out on Mercedes's show; and Mercedes, for dumping water over the star afterwards, backstage.

But Mercedes was glad they had gotten over their differences. Petty fights were totally not her thing, and she loved spending time with the sassy woman.

"Didn't peg you as the type to sharpen your knife quietly when no one's looking." Santana muttered, rolling her eyes. Pulling her aviators off, she turned to glance at what Quinn had been doing. Her eyes widened.

"Q, the hell are you doing?"

Quinn grinned, shrugging as she handed the small device over. Santana took it, scrolling over the screen with the biggest smile on her face. It was Quinn's twitter profile, and Santana watched as the mentions kept flooding in. They were from various fans, but they all had the same hashtag: QuinntanameetsRachelBerry.

Apparently, someone had leaked to the press.

"I expect it was you?" Santana glanced up to see Mercedes sigh dramatically, checking her watch as she did so.

"Just can't find decent help these days." The host teased, as she held up a hand. "Here we go, you two. In fifteen seconds, you're going in." Handing the phone back to Quinn, Santana nodded, doing one last jump squat.

Quinn stifled a laugh at her best friend's face. Sometimes, Santana took things so seriously, it was hilarious.

Mercedes counted down from five, dropping a finger with each number.

At one, Mercedes stepped away from the entrance, ushering them in. "Good luck." She winked.

Santana was only mildly surprised to find that Jake and Marley had followed them in-all the other members had had their camera crew with them as well. She guessed that it would have been too expensive to put up cameras all over the maze.

As they entered, they found themselves at the start of a long corridor. Santana was acutely aware, suddenly, of how loud the bells were in the quiet of the maze. Next to her, Quinn's lips were pressed tightly together, her footsteps light.

Game mode, on.

"Hey, you know what we should have?" Santana commented, leading the way down the hallway. She kept her ears pricked for any noises, alert and ready. She knew she had an advantage over most of the other competitors-while she may not have been as big as they others, she was fast.

"What?" Quinn knew Santana was fully in competitive mode.

"Code names. Like. I can be…Snixx. And you can be-"

"Surprisingly, Quinn sounds more than fine to me."

"Poo, Quinnie-boo." Santana sighed, throwing her friend a wink from over her shoulder. "I don't think you want me calling you Fabgay forever, do you?"

"Call it tradition." Quinn responded dryly, tapping her back when they get to the intersection. "Do you want to split up? They can't have gone far."

Santana straightened. "Well…we can't assume they didn't do the same-split up, I mean."

"Right. They need to cover more ground." Quinn tapped her chin. As she thought, she heard something from behind her. She whirled around, holding a hand up for silence, her bells jingling just the slightest bit. Santana stiffened, but listened anyway, trying to catch what Quinn had.

There was silence. But Quinn swore she heard it, and damnit, she was sure it wasn't far away. Slowly, she beckoned with Santana, leading the way down the right fork to meet with another intersection. They had three options, but none gave any indication as to where anyone could be hiding.

They couldn't have gone far.

And then she heard it again. A sneeze. Checking with her best friend, she was reassured that the Latina had heard it too. Wordlessly, Santana nodded towards the hallway on the left. They began to creep their way over there, moving deliberately so as to not disturb the bells anymore than they had to.

"…not to split up, and that's exactly what happened. Why does this always happen to me?" Quinn had to swallow a laugh as she placed the voice. Her drummer was definitely going to get the shock of his life.

"Hudson knows nothing about being discreet." Santana mumbled, rolling her eyes. She paused behind the blonde, waiting for her friend to check down the corridor.

Quinn pressed her back against the wall, ducking her head out quickly to hopefully catch a glimpse of the big man.

Lady Luck was smiling on them; Finn was standing in the middle of what looked like a lavishly decorated bedroom. Quinn raised an eyebrow. No one had said anything about the furnished interior.

"You up for a nap?" Santana had bent at the hips, turning her head to take a look herself. Quinn looked down and jumped a little-the woman had somehow shifted without her noticing.

"Christ." She hissed, pushing the dark hair away. "Don't do that."

Santana huffed, rolling her eyes. "Then don't move like my abuela. I was wondering what was taking you so long."

Quinn narrowed her eyes. "Stop being so impatient." She held a hand up to quell any protests. "Look, he's there. Do we just charge up to him?"

"Like elephants?" Santana had a disbelieving look on her face. She crossed her arms across her chest.

"You have any better ideas? Sneaking up on him is out of the question. The corridor's too long for that."

"I don't know, but definitely not that-shit!" She pulls Quinn to her, shushing her with a hand over the blonde's mouth. Behind them, Marley and Jake crouch low, trying to stay out of the way as they capture the action.

The footsteps down the corridor grow louder, muffled and thudding as they were. Santana's glad that the bells hadn't jingled-Finnocence was heading right for them.

Quinn's eyes widen, like she can't believe their first catch would be this easy.

Finn rounds the corner, and before she can think, Santana's launched herself at him, bells causing a ruckus, and her body latching on to his like a koala. She's silent, she's quick, and Finn doesn't know exactly what is pushing him to the ground.

"Q, his bandana!" Santana cries, pulling out his arm and placing her knee on it, crowing in victory. "His wrist, his wrist!"

Quinn is there, only faintly aware of Finn's cameraman joining their little scuffle, laying on the floor by Finn's head to capture an image of his yelling face. Santana counters his screams-god, he was higher pitched than a girl-and begins waving her arms wildly above her, adrenaline rushing through her like a wave.

Movies lie. In them, the hero takes like, a second to get through the knots. Quinn is laughing too much to actually undo them. She eventually manages it, and jumps up, giving a very un-Quinn-like yell. "Yes!"

"Boo yeah, Finn Chumpson! You've been Snixxed, boy!" Santana announces, rubbing it into his face, as he groans.

"This is so unfair!" He actually slams his fist on the ground. Santana didn't know anyone above the age of four did that anymore. She just laughs, jumping up and high-fiving her best friend. Finn glares, but there is nothing frightening about that. "You guys are girls! How am I supposed to fight girls?"

"You don't." Santana quips, as Quinn passes the green cloth to Finn's cameraman. The sandy haired man winks at them, and reaches down to help Finn up.

His voice is friendly. "Come on; I'll take you to the jail."

"Jail?" Finn asks, hauling himself to his feet, brushing away help. "Man, I just started."

"Lighten up, Finn." Quinn smiles. "It's just a game." Finn looks at her for a moment, and then softens, as she knew he would.

"Yeah, I guess."

As he is being led away, Santana waggles her eyebrows at Quinn. A noise from hidden speakers has them jumping though.

"Finn, out! Finn, out!"

"Whoa," Santana chuckles. "-say goodbye to dignity, why don't you?"

"Like your little salt rubbing didn't do anything to him." Quinn says, nudging her with her arm. Santana rolls her eyes.

"He's so thick skinned, it'll probably take aeons for it to reach his heart. Assuming the clogged arteries from all the Wendy's burgers don't get in the way."

"You're so rude."

"I'm brutally honest."

"Santana?"

"Yeah?"

"Never say 'snixxed' ever again."

* * *

Rachel jumped, as the announcement blasts across the maze. She was in a room not too far from the entrance, and she couldn't believe that they had caught anybody _that_ quickly.

Then again, it _was_ Quinn and Santana. If anyone could hunt them down, it would be them.

"Hey, find anything?" Sam asked, bounding over from the other side of the room, tailed by his cameraman. It literally looked like someone had dropped a children's toy room in there-stuffed animals and candy littered the place, mostly on the floor, but there were some dolls on the shelves on the wall. There were two ways in and out-she was standing by the corridor they had entered by, and the exit was directly ahead.

Rachel sighed. She hadn't managed to find any binoculars so far. Artie had though, just one. It had been hidden underneath a pile of newspapers in the last room they had been in.

Their celebration for finding it was short-lived-the next ones were proving to be far more difficult.

"No, not yet. You?" Sam shrugged. He wasn't too worried. He knew that the other team could have found some too.

He was enjoying himself. It felt like he was an important spy, and he was going to find the top secret notes to stop the government from blowing up an unnecessary city. By his calculations, though, everyone had a disadvantage; they had no way to tell if the other team had found any.

The only way to win would be to face off with the other team. Devious.

"I can't believe Artie found the first one so fast, though." He commented, bending to help her look amongst the mess of trucks. Rachel rolled her eyes.

"You underestimate him." So maybe she was biased. A thought struck her. "How well do you know Santana and Quinn?"

Sam looked up at her, humming silently. Behind him, Artie and Mike were searching amongst the child debris on the other side, flanked by their cameramen. "We're good friends."

"I've never seen Quinn voluntarily hug someone other than Santana."

"Even the Wizard of Oz has a heart." Sam winked, standing and brushing his hands on his thighs. There wasn't anything here. "Besides," he gives her a strange look. "-she's a lot more reserved than Santana. She'd hug you back just to be polite."

Rachel snorts. That sounded a lot like Quinn. "I…was just wondering. Don't think I'm feeling sympathy for the enemy." She scrabbles, in repsonse to Sam's disbelieving look.

The big-lipped boy nodded. "Right. I'll pretend I believe you." He calls their teammates over. "Hey, guys, nothing here!"

"Except your loud mouth, Sam." Artie shoots back, bending at the waist. "Do you want them to to find us?"

"They can't hear me, can they?" Sam scrunches his face up. Surely, they would hear them coming before they could see them.

They had those bells after all.

"As much as it sounds like an exaggeration, I'm sure Quinn has bionic powers of hearing."

"You make them sound like robots." Mike chuckles, coming to a stop next to where everyone else had congregated, their film crew huddles around them.

Artie shrugs nonchalantly. "Quinn once stopped a recording session because the harmony was flat by like…a little bit."

"Did she even get it right?" Sam didn't think that was even detectable for a normal human.

"Of course she did!" Rachel cut in, an indignant look on her face. "There is a very big difference between being flat and having the right resonance for a harmony!" She really wasn't surprised Quinn could have done that. After all, they were both singers-Rachel, of all people, could sympathise.

Artie smirked. "She's right. In the end, Quinn's ear is one of the things that got us to where we are now. The band would probably be crap without her."

"Language!" Rachel gasped, holding a hand to her chest. "You've been hanging out with Santana too much!" That had to stop. The swearing, at least. She much rather liked keeping her ears pure from such abuse.

"Speaking of," Mike began to backpedal towards the exit, not bothering to look behind him. "-how do you know Santana and Quinn anyway?"

Rachel licked her lips as she stepped over an errant fireman's truck. She couldn't hold back the memory of their first meeting though; Sam commented on the smile on her face.

"Oh, it wasn't fun, as much as it was funny." She enthralled, gesturing with her fingers. The three men looked interested in an elaboration, and Rachel relished in their attention. Sighing as though it pained her, she couldn't resist the giggle. "Santana nearly ran me over on the sidewalk."

Artie nearly faceplanted in his shock. Catching Sam's shoulder, he staggered to a stop, his face bewildered. "Like, with her car?"

"Yes." Rachel nodded, watching as her teammates began to crack up. "She then came out and began to berate me for being too small, and telling me she wasn't going to apologise just because she couldn't be held responsible for almost running over a midget, and seriously, why wasn't I bigger, how old was I, twelve?" She exaggerated her voice to a low growl, matching Santana's voice exactly. This just served to make them laugh louder, clutching at each other in their mirth. Even the cameramen were silently shaking, trying to keep the equipment steady.

"And that wasn't the worst part." She continued, beaming. "Because then Quinn steps out, and this was before they were both famous, mind you. But I had already done a few circuits on the Broadway stage, because of course. There was no way I was coming to LA without having some sort of fanbase to strike off." Sensing she was losing them, Rachel hurriedly added. "But as I was saying, Quinn Fabray exits and she marches over to Santana and positively glares at her. Imagine a lion staring down a tiny kitten. Except Santana doesn't react much more than with a scoff, and she points to me while she turns to her, and goes, 'She's the reincarnation of Frodo. And even if he did save Middle-Earth, that is no excuse to step in front of my car while I'm driving.' And she glares at me herself."

"So I step up to them both and tell them, excuse me, I was on the sidewalk, and you were the one not obeying traffic rules, and how much would you like it if someone tried to run _you_ over?"

Sam wiped the side of his eye, where a tear had leaked out due to laughter. "I bet she didn't take _that_ well."

"Oh, she couldn't have taken it worse if she had assualted me. Her jaw drops, and Quinn gives me a sort of impressed look, and before I can say anything else, Santana begins yelling at me in Spanish and proclaiming ridiculous things like 'going all Lima Heights' on me, and shaving my head and making it into a toupee to hang on some poor man's head."

Artie chuckles, hugging his stomach. "Sounds like Santana, alright."

"She's terrifying." Mike agrees, unable to stop yet another small laugh from escaping.

"And she's going to give you four a headstart of five seconds out of mercy, sincere from her terrifying, terrifying heart."

The entire group froze, turning around in the small corner they were in, only to realise they were trapped between Quinn and Santana. Somehow, without them noticing, Quinn had managed to double-back and box them in by standing in the exit they had taken from the toy room. Santana blocked their only escape route, smugly crossing her arms and leaning against the wall comfortably, mockingly shaking her shoe at them. The bell jingled softly.

Sam had thought it would have been louder-it certainly had sounded louder in the tent.

"Shit." He cursed, and Mike nodded next to him, warily looking between the two. "How did they get there?"

"Are you even trying?" Quinn teases, lifting her long hair to scratch the back of her neck. "We heard you the first time you started laughing."

"Bionic hearing." Was all Artie said, and despite themselves, they had to laugh. Santana and Quinn both narrowed their eyes, even though they couldn't see each other.

Rachel couldn't help but feel a pang at the familiarity they seemed to share.

"Look," Mike began to speak up, nervously darting his gaze between both women. "-why don't we just pretend we never saw each other here, and move on? You're outnumbered."

Santana rolls her eyes. "Maybe, Chang 1. But you're the ones trapped."

Quinn added on seamlessly. "And even if you try to run, we'll just catch one of you. Or two, since you can't all push past us without someone getting caught."

The implication was unspoken. Unconciously, all eyes darted to Artie, who gritted his teeth at the realization. If he hadnt been bitter before, he definitely was now. It was just unfair that they put him in a race like this. He couldn't run as fast, and he was pretty sure he needed to take off the prosthetics soon. He was beginning to feel a little warm in them, and that usually led to painful blisters for days after.

"Robotboy, RuPaul, we're not giving you two a free pass." Santana suddenly piped up. Artie looked up, catching the light in them. She looked almost…nervous? But that was ridiculous. In all the years he had known Santana, he had never seen her nervous.

But that was definitely what her tight eyes and bit bottom lip were saying. Dark eyes fluttered away, before coming back again, this time unreadable. "However, we will pretend not to see you two if you walk past us right now."

Both Rachel and Artie started.

Artie glared at the Latina, unsure if he should feel offended that she had singled them out as harmless, or not. Exchanging a glance with Rachel, he realised that she was battling the same feelings as he was.

A look at Quinn confirmed his thoughts though-they weren't going easy on them, on him, because they felt they weren't a threat.

Mike and Sam were just faster. Also, Sam was wearing the first set of binoculars they had found around his neck.

"This is beginning to sound like a bad hustler movie." Sam joked, breaking the tension. Smiles cracked faces, and Artie saw Quinn's impassive mask slip for just a second. But then they were back, but not as heavy as before, not as intimidating.

A stare-off ensued, instead.

"So if we were to walk past you, right now," Rachel began, quickly alternating between Santana and Quinn. "-you wouldn't try to eliminate us?"

"Nope." Santana assured, but Rachel wasn't any less convinced, especially considering that Santana had taken a bold step forward with her statement. There was no fear on her face, no uncertainty as to whether she would be able to successfully pull off someone's bandanna. As far as Santana was no doubt concerned, someone was going to join Finn Hudson as one of the eliminated.

Curse her and her competitive streak, sometimes.

Mike nudged them both. "Go." He had a gentle smile on his face. "You two can still find the others. And besides, the other team has Brittany-she couldn't hurt a fly."

Rachel raised an eyebrow. "That sounds awfully underestimating of you."

Mike laughed. "I said Brittany couldn't hurt a fly. I never said anything about her not hurting people." He paused. "Well, not intentionally, anyway." He whispered the last part quietly, as though to himself.

Rachel squinted.

"Holy long waits, Batman." Santana groaned loudly. "Are the two of you going to hustle or not?"

Artie suddenly caught sight of Quinn just a few steps away-when the hell did she even get that close? Quickly, he pulled the binoculars from Sam's neck, draping it around his and stepping away, tugging Rachel's arm. "If one of you get away, try to find the exit and wait for us there."

"Got it, boss." Sam saluted, edging away from the blonde that was suddenly countable steps away. And Sam didn't like counting higher than ten.

"Good luck." Mike gave them a thumbs-up, smiling.

As they walked past Santana, she winked at them, chuckling slightly when Rachel stuck her tongue out at her in defiance. "Don't make me feel like such a villian." She said, and for a second, neither could decide if she was joking or not.

They decided to book it faster when they heard Sam begin to make ridiculous noises behind them-Artie could just picture Sam making impressively ridiculous fighting poses, and the mental image made him laugh as they sped up.

When they followed the corridor down another fork and turned left, the speakers announced both Mike Chang and Sam Evans as out of the game.


	8. Snixx and (Scary) Quinn

A/N: Anddd part 2! look at me, all productive. haha, let me know what you think!

BrittzTana: She wouldn't be Miss Lopez if she wasn't. haha. *and yeah, i miss them too. what happenedddd. stupid glee writers.* hope you like this chapter too!

snixxjuice214: Ta-da! got everyone's death right here:) haha. i'm glad you liked so much in the last chapter; i was actually afraid of information overload with all of that:) hopefully you'll like this one too!

also: my spell-check refuses to work, so any mistakes are all mine:) enjoy!

* * *

"Fuck me ten times over." Santana panted, flopping onto the ground as Sam kept laughing next to her, pained tears falling from his eyes. He clutched his sides, trying to register the end to the tickling sensation.

Despite his chortles, he turned and breathed heavily next to her. "You wish. I thought you were into the ladies."

"Screw you. I am." She smirked, as she hauled herself up onto her knees. Not much further away, Quinn had Mike pinned to the wall, laughing into his shoulder. His blue bandana held in her hand, Quinn held on to Mike's torso, his arm still pinned between them.

"This was not how I imagined our first meeting going." Quinn teased, chuckling into the man's ear as he gently pushed them off the wall.

"I'm not complaining." He replied, pulling away as he held his hands up. "Are you going to cuff me?"

"Oh my god, you sound like Puckerman." Santana stood, reaching a hand down to help Sam up. "I didn't know his brand of charm was contagious."

They laughed. Mike shrugged, as he walked over to where they stood. "I cannot believe the two of you jumped on us."

"Gives a whole new meaning to 'jumping your bones', doesn't it?" Sam joked, rolling out his shoulder. He saw their cameraman move towards them-they had backed away to film the entire scene-and saw their smiles.

"Hey, Matt. Not cool." Sam groaned, punching his crewmember on the arm. The man merely jumped away, dodging the playful hit easily. "What happens next?"

"You join the Incredible Bulk in jail." Santana chirped, and Quinn passes the bandana Santana had handed her along with Mike's to Matt. The silent man beckoned with his chin towards the room they had exited, and Santana noted that that the jail must've been down one of the turn-offs they had passed earlier.

Sam and Mike both sighed, but looked at the duo with respectful eyes. They had no idea Santana would resort to tickling, and Quinn to randomly yelling and slapping, to try to get the bandanas away. Despite having been eliminated, they had to admit they were impressed themselves.

"Have fun taking the others out." Sam high-fived them both, a boyish grin on his face. Mike nodded next to him, non-verbally encouraging them as well.

"Have fun in jail. No hard feelings?" Quinn stuck a hand out.

"Only if you let our team win." Sam teased, shaking it.

* * *

"Holy mother of god." Puck straightened, a smile on his face. "They got both Mike _and_ Sam at the same time?" He had been digging in a hole for the past few minutes, following a hunch that there had to be a pair of binoculars hidden under the dirt. Considering the very obvious spade stabbed into the ground they had found, of course.

Sugar bounded up next to him, her eyes narrowed as she looked down at the kind of deep hole Puck had already dug. He was up to his waist, dripping sweat with the exertion. Sugar grimaced.

"I don't think it's deep enough."

He snorted, rolling his eyes. He rests his crossed arms on the handle of the spade, and points at the fast-growing mound of dirt he had been piling. "Darling, from where I'm standing, it's plenty deep."

"Then where's the binoculars?"

"Where's Brittany?" Puck snarks, inwardly asking her question himself. It can't have been buried too deep, can it? "We don't need another Finn."

Splitting up was a bad idea-as the other man had already proven. Sometimes, Puck wished he had listened to his best friend better. Like then. Maybe he wouldn't have been eliminated so early.

"She's gone ahead. She said she had a good feeling." They had yet to find their first pair of binoculars, so they were pressed for time. They had no idea how many the other team had, but knowing that they had the advantage in numbers calmed him down a little.

When it came to the final showdown-which was inevitable-he had no doubt that they could overpower them. He was the Puckasaurus, after all.

If they even survived that long. He was quickly realising that Brittany had a habit of wandering away on her own. Even if it had gotten them here, he wasn't confident enough that she wasn't going to get herself eliminated without their help. "Well, tell her to come back."

"I did, but she's in this huge bouncy castle thing, and she swears that there are a pair in there."

"Bouncy castle?" The rooms were beyond weird. There had been one full of socks. Brittany had tried to sneak a pair of duck ones into her pockets. Puck shot his cameraman a look. "Bro, seriously?"

The crewmember shrugged. He had just gotten the briefing himself. How was he supposed to know about the wacky things they had planned?

"Can't we just join her?" Sugar whined, pointing behind her. "You're not finding anything anyway."

"I'm sure it's here." He pressed his lips together. He just had to find one…

"I got it!" The whispered shout had them both looking up, only to see Brittany racing into the room, skidding to a stop next to the huge mound of dirt. In her hands, she held a pair of green binoculars, which she brought to her eyes, grinning recklessly. Her entire face was alight in delight, and Puck couldn't stop his own happy smile.

"Damn, girl."

"Oh my god, yes!" Sugar jumped on the spot, punching the air with a fist. "You're like, Captain Amelia!"

"Who?" Puck scrunched his eyebrows together, confused. But Brittany just high-fived the tiny brunette, obviously getting the reference.

"No way, you watched 'Treasure Island' too?"

"Are you kidding? They were my glitter and pop before I even knew what those were!"

"Awesome." Brittany laughed, and Puck gave up even trying, just enjoying the sight of those long legs going on forever in front of him.

"Puck, you better not be checking out my legs." Brittany teased, bending to toss some dirt at him. He ducked, and indignantly scowled.

"No way, Britt." He lied, waggling his eyebrows anyway. "Unless you want me to."

"Ew." She was laughing though, shaking her head. "Just focus on digging, Badger."

"Why am I a badger?"

"You have that stripe on your head; it's kinda like the white stripe skunks have, but I don't know if skunks can dig as well as badgers, so to be safe: badger."

Puck just rolled his eyes and continued to dig.

Sugar was squatting next to the pile of dirt he had already dug up, her eyes narrowed. Brittany saw her doing so, and made a face. What was she doing?

"Sugar?"

"Puck, does your lack of hair also mean you can't see? They're right here!"

Brittany's eyebrows rose, as Puck stopped what he was doing and turned, eyes wide. Sugar was scrabbling through the soil, not caring that she was probably ruining her French manicure-she was pretty sure she could bully the salon into getting her an appointment almost immediately later on, anyway.

Sure enough, after a few moments, she pulled out an item wrapped in a plastic bag. "Get out here!" Puck hurried to clamber out of the hole he had dug, groaning with the effort-it _was_ pretty deep.

"Whoo!" He cheered, grabbing Sugar around the waist and twirling her around. "I knew I wasn't digging for nothing!"

"Put me down!" She cried, but she was smiling too. They had two pairs now-even if the other team had the same number, that meant they were that much closer to completing the mission.

Brittany laughed along with them, clutching her pair in her hand. She was happy and excited and bubbly all at once. It was like that one time she had managed to get one of her contestants to lose more than half his body weight on her show.

Puck suddenly perked his ears, hearing something carry in a light breeze. His eyes widened, as he set Sugar down.

It was a soft jangling, something you would hear at Christmas. Right now though, in that maze, no one could say they were going to merrily sing ho, ho, ho when they heard it.

The trio shared panicked glances. They needed to hide.

Brittany lit up with her idea, grabbing onto the both of them and dragging them across to the next room, where the bouncy castle she had just been in stood, big and just like the kind you would see at a children's party.

Puck gave her a weird look-sure, it looked like a good hiding place, but there was no way all of them would fit. But Brittany was still towing them along, their cameramen scrambling to follow. One of them, an Asian, stumbled, but the sharp-looking blonde caught her before she could fall and abruptly tugged her back up, her grip not once loosening on her camera.

"In here." Brittany hissed, pushing them into the ball pit half-hidden behind the huge cartoon castle. Quickly, she pointed inside the castle. "You guys," she directed the camera crew. "-get in there!"

Everyone scrambled to follow her commands, as she dived into the ballpit herself. But the blonde camerawoman-Brittany was pretty sure her name was Kitty or something-cursed, as she realised she couldn't fit in there with the rest of them.

The bells were louder now, and they were making more of a racket, building into a fast-paced crescendo. That only meant one thing. Santana and Quinn knew where they were-and they were running. Wordlessly, Sugar pointed back into the room they had just left.

"What?" Kitty screeched softly. "No way!" Obviously, she had caught on to what they wanted her to do. But this was no time for discussion. Brittany and Puck both joined in, forcefully jabbing at the hole Puck had dug.

Kitty hesitated for a moment more, before growling and stamping her foot. Glaring at everyone, she marched over to the hole and dropped gracefully inside, carefully holding onto her equipment. Brittany saw the top half of her body disappear into the hole quietly, before the bells grew ever louder, and an arm appeared from the other entrance into the room.

Plunging herself under the balls, Brittany prayed.

* * *

"Stupid Santana." Quinn muttered, making a face as Jake followed behind her. "'Split up,' she said. 'We'll cover more ground,' she said." She gives an ungraceful snort, sprinting as fast as she can. "Now look-I have Puckerman right here, while she's off gallivanting somewhere else, looking for Rachel Berry and Artie."

Jake just chuckles, thinking of the ridiculous bickering that had ensued when Santana brought up the idea of splitting to find the rest. He had no idea how hilarious the Latina woman could be-maybe that was why Quinn and her worked so well together. Both of them had the same rough, blunt sense of humour.

They burst into the room Quinn was sure she had heard Puckerman cheer from just moments before. She stuttered to a stop. It was empty, save for a mound of dirt directly in front of her, a spade lying haphazardly next to it.

Wondering, she raised an eyebrow, her face otherwise unexpressive. Giving Jake a bemused glance, she slowly walked towards the pile, her bells jingling slightly with every step. The dirt itself looked disturbed, like someone had been prying at it.

_Someone was definitely here_, she thought to herself. _But where were they now?_

She rounded the pile and saw a hole. Surprised, she looked in.

Quinn's eyes grew wide, before she laughed. "Hey Kitty."

The blonde woman pouted up at her, green eyes loosening from their almost perpetual sharp gaze. She looked absolutely miserable, the camera pointed up at Quinn. There were a few specks of dirt on her outfit, and Quinn couldn't help but offer a hand quietly to help.

"Come here." Gratefully, the woman set her camera on the ground and reached up to accept the offer, pulling herself out with minimal contact with any more dirt.

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me just yet." Quinn narrowed her eyes. "Want to tell me where the rest are hiding?" She was pretty sure Kitty was Sugar's camerawoman for the game.

Kitty huffed. "I can't do that! Crew aren't a part of the game."

Quinn's first reaction was annoyance, but that sizzled out quickly to respect. Her lips curled; she could always appreciate someone who could stand up for themselves. If Santana could hear her now, she would probably give her an eyeroll and mutter something about it having something to do with the way the blonde was brought up and all that nonsense.

"Can't hurt to try." Quinn cocked her head. "But you're around here, so…" She looked around the otherwise empty space. That was when she spotted the huge…bouncy castle? "You have got to be kidding me."

"Nope, that looks like a children's bouncy castle. I had one at my fifth birthday party once." Jake piped up, making Quinn turn to give him a look. "What?"

"I wouldn't have pegged you to be the overly sharing type." She smirked, when the man rolled his eyes.

"Oh, he's not. He actually shares _a lot_ of himself." Kitty interjects, making Quinn frown at the implication of the carefully enunciated phrase. Judging by the way Jake tightened his jaw, Quinn realised that what Kitty had said had actually struck a nerve with him.

Making a mental note about it, she turns back to the problem at hand and stares at the plaything in the next room. She sighs.

"They're hiding there, aren't they?"

* * *

Brittany sighs. Of course they would find her. It was as subtle a hiding place as putting Lord Tubbington in an empty white room.

She could hear Quinn making her way over, her steps slow, deiberate, accompanied with the jingling. It reminded Brittany of this really cool videogame she played a couple of months ago, when it was really popular. Something about finding notes in the middle of the dark and trying not to scream when you came face to face with a man with a white mask.

Bottom line? She was pretty sure Quinn was the man in the white mask.

Briefly, she wondered where Santana Lopez was. Of course, Brittany knew her. She would never admit it, because really? Telling someone you just met that you're obssessed with their show is extremely unattractive. Even if the lead actress was totally adorable and probably had the cutest blush in the world.

_Still_, with a pang, Brittany realised, _Santana couldn't possibly like me back, right?_ Because, honestly, when she had gone over to introduce herself, Santana had seemed about ready to run away screaming. She didn't think the gorgeous woman had even looked her in the eye once then.

With those sexy aviators on, it was really hard to tell.

Then again, there had been those long moments when their gazes caught during the trivia game…

The bells were suddenly very close.

* * *

Quinn exhaled deeply, as she came to a stop right in front of the castle. Peering in, she saw the two crew members huddled in a corner, and had to stifle a laugh.

"What are you guys even doing here?" She raised an eyebrow, and watched as they tried to untangle themselves from each other, trying to explain. She lets them squirm for a minute, before lifting her hand authoritatively.

She stepped away, a smirk on her face. They definitely weren't in there. Backpedaling, she decided to circle the huge toy, and was only mildly caught off-guard when she saw the ball pit.

(Come on, she totally just found _Kitty_ in a hole. She wouldn't be surprised if they were all there.)

For a moment, Quinn wonders if she should play with them a bit more, till she catches herself and laughs because hello? Such a Santana-thought.

"Crazy woman." She mutters, before she crosses her arms, acutely aware of the four cameras trained on her suddenly. Raising her voice, Quinn wonders how to word her threat. "Alright. Why don't you just give me Puckerman, and I won't come after you two." Three cameramen meant three teammates. Quinn was starting to think that splitting up was a better idea, at least if you weren't the ones hunting.

"Can't we come to an agreement?" Quinn hears Puck's voice, muffled, and there is a movement from the surface of the plastic balls, as though he is batting them away from where they fall into his mouth.

Quinn smirks wider. "We already have. Brittany, Sugar? I'm counting to five." Maybe trying Santana's tact wouldn't hurt.

There is silence from the ball pit.

"One…" Quinn begins to count loudly, smug.

Nothing.

"Two…"

Multi-coloured balls rippled the surface, moving over each other and bouncing around like errant electrons; there is a stifled shout.

"Three!" She hears a curse, and then Puck rises above the mess of balls, and is pushed unceremoniously out by two different hands. He wheels his arms like crazy, but that doesn't stop him from landing ungraciously on his ass.

He has a pair of binoculars between his fingers. Inwardly, Quinn counts that as the second. Which meant that there were only three left.

"Hey, Puckerman."

"Quinn!" Puck bounces to his feet, plastering a fake smile on his face. He obviously means to be charming, tucking his hands into his jeans pockets, smiling the same smile that got Blake Lively to fall into bed with him, before she got married to Ryan Reynolds. "Fancy meeting you here!"

"It's a maze. Not really fancy anything. Unless tuxedos suddenly look like that." Quinn points out his dirty clothes, and realises that that Puck must've dug the hole himself. She takes a step closer, unafraid. Puck takes a step back.

He raises his hands in a placating gesture. "Now, now…"

"Just give me your bandana."

"No way."

"You're not going to miss it." She jokes, beginning to circle him. There is tension. Quinn knew she couldn't overpower him easily.

"Yes I will." He stands firm, touching his bandana where he has it tied around his belt loop. It was dirty from him digging, originally tied around his wrist in that way.

"Really?" Quinn pulls up short. Puck can tell she's plotting something. "Do you really want me to test out my theory?"

"Refresh my memory again."

"Fabric versus nails. I say there's a definite winner there."

"I highly doubt it, Lady Fabray. In case you forget," he thumps his chest. "-it's the Puckasaurus here."

"You did not just speak of yourself in third person." Quinn says, before darting forward and catching Puck completey off-guard as she tackles him like a linebacker. His breath is knocked out of him with the fall, his back hitting the ground. Deftly, she works the knot, and crows triumphantly, waving it above her like a green-coloured flag.

"Damnit!" Puck wheezes, thinking about Brittany and Sugar laughing from where they were sheltering. And to think they had pushed him out thinking that he would be able to handle Quinn Fabray.

Newsflash: it was Quinn fucking Fabray.

"For the love of-here." Kitty stamped forward, her face tight, and that was when Quinn realises she got it wrong, that Kitty was actually Puck's camerawoman. "You're coming to jail with me."

"Been there once." The guitarist breathlessly reveals. "The toilets are like, non-existent."

"Not the Hilton, of course." Quinn stands, helping Puck to his feet and breathing in. Despite herself, she didn't want to have hurt him.

"Thanks." He pants, his inhales shallow. "Man, with that kind of pounce, you should be in the NFL."

"No thank you." Quinn chuckles, stepping away from him quickly, wrinkling her nose slightly at the sweat smell. She suddenly desperately wants Santana here, wants her best friend to calm her down. Because his eyes are suddenly too dark and warm, and she just can't.

Breathing in deep, she turns and walks over to the ball pit, ignoring the announcement of Puck's elimination. "It's quite hilarious that the two of you are still hiding, you know."

"Quinn!" The blonde spins, and manages to catch the object Kitty's thrown. She looks down. A pair of binoculars sit in her palm. She frowns.

"What's this for?"

"It's yours. Do whatever with it."

"What?" Quinn was confused. She was the hunter, right? What did Kitty mean the binoculars were hers?

Kitty shakes her head and flaps a hand. "Santana and you are competing as well, remember? Since Puck dropped it, the binoculars are yours now."

"Wait." Quinn held up a palm. "Does this mean I need to find five pairs before I can leave?"

"No, it just means you can do whatever you want with the pair you have." She winks. "Keep it, throw it, bargain with it…"

A smirk lilted Quinn's lips as she realised the importance of the object. "Seriously?"

Kitty smiled back, before turning to pull Puck behind her. "Hurry up! We don't have all day; I can feel my ovaries ovulating, waiting for you."

Puck rolls his eyes and Quinn catches him retort with a "Women don't normally say that to me; especially not in bed," before he disappears out of sight. The singer arches an eyebrow, a bit overwhelmed with the new revelation.

"Are you going to stand there all day, or are we going to actually be able to leave?" An annoyed huff from behind her, and Quinn startles. Turning around, she sees Sugar chest-deep in the ball pit-it _was_ unbearably deep.

"Hello. I don't believe we've met." Quinn reaches a hand out, despite Sugar's glare. The brunette softens; Quinn takes note of the green bandana around her wrist. With her other hand, Quinn slings the binoculars casually over her neck.

"Sugar Motta." The teen in the pink suit jacket introduced herself, and Quinn is suddenly reminded of a video she had watched before-a rant about the inconsistencies in the whipped cream in Starbucks coffees that went viral. Ah, that must be where she was from.

"Aren't you going to shake my hand?"

"Lady, I may be eighteen, but I'm not dumb. You're going to pull my bandana off the minute I do."

Quinn rolls her eyes. Of course she'll catch on. "Well, you got me." Lowering her arm, she began to pace in front of the pit. "Brittany, you might want to come out."

"I'm good." The reply was soft, and a few balls disturbed. "Why don't you just leave?"

"I guess I could. But don't you guys want your binoculars back?" To emphasize her point, Quinn shakes it in the air. "I'll tell you what. I'll let one of you-whoa!"

Before she could finish her sentence, Sugar had already jumped out of the ball pit, running towards her. Quinn barely managed to dodge the pink blur, side-stepping. "Rude!"

"You talk too much. This. Isn't. The Fabray. Show!" With every phrase, Sugar reached out for her the object around her neck. Quinn had to hold her back with an arm, the other keeping the binoculars away.

Quinn pushes away, cradling the pair against her. "Clearly-hey!" She had to jump back to avoid another grab, colliding with a warm body. Sighing, she turned, smiling sheepishly at the taller blonde, who grinned back.

(Briefly, she notes yet another pair of binoculars around Brittany's neck. Three down, two to go.)

Pale arms reached for her neck, and Quinn poked her hard in the ribs, ducking low and scampering across the floor.

_Than you, Cheerios training. _

She wasn't expecting someone to fall on her, squashing her to the ground, and Quinn couldn't help the laugh that escaped her-that Sugar sure was persistent.

"Get off!"

"No!" Another grab, and Quinn wasn't fast enough to bat it away. Sugar clutched the binoculars where she has them, and Quinn reaches up to employ yet another Santana tactic.

Squealing, Sugar drops the prize in favour of stopping the tickling fingers, and Quinn wiggles out from under her, wary of Brittany running towards them. Before the blonde could reach her though, Quinn nimbly runs away, shouting for Jake to follow her.

She runs into the room before, jumping gracefully over the hole, not missing a step. Behind her, she could hear Brittany's footsteps following behind, followed by Sugar's loud shouts. If only she could get back to the fork in the maze she had taken before…

"Stop following me!" Quinn yelled, turning down the tunnel, and taking the left she had before, wondering how on earth it had come to this, because honestly, wasn't _she_ the hunter?

"Never!" Brittany was definitely catching up.

"Stop having long legs!"

"You stop running!" Faintly, Quinn noticed Sugar wasn't following them anymore, but she didn't dwell on the girl's absence. Less people following her…Quinn got to the fork she wanted, and immediately took the right, crouching down low in the weird alcove she had come across while searching for them. Trying to control her breathing, she watched as Brittany slid to a stop in the middle of the T-shaped corner, and whirled around quickly.

Quinn realised that she had lost Jake as well, and briefly, she hopes he doesn't come to find her. That would give away her position.

They both start when the announcement blares.

"Rachel, out! Rachel, out!"

"Shit!" Brittany seems to make a split-second decision and keeps going straight, her cameraman following behind. Quinn counted to five, waiting for the footsteps to die out, before she slumps down where she is. She was exhausted.

She hears footsteps again, and immediately squats, cursing lightly when she realises that it was just Jake.

"Hey, Jake?" The cameraman trains the lenses on her, and Quinn knows she must look a sight. Oh well. Her fans have seen her in concert. That couldn't be any worse than this.

"Remind me to tell Emma I need a whole new training regime."

* * *

Santana was breathing heavily, aware of the small object she was holding in her hand. God.

_Next time_, she reflects, _I'll leave it alone._

She probably shouldn't have taken the binoculars. Obviously, Artie and Rachel liked the idea of just taking it off her instead of continuing to look for it on their own. She probably wasn't supposed to have them.

Santana had to give the duo credit though-they could run if they needed to.

"Fuck." She was hiding behind a life-sized cutout of Unique, one of the many in the room she was in. It seemed like some sort of shrine to the Mistress of the Stage, but right now, it was 'The Only Place I Could Find' for Santana.

"…here!" The Troll's annoying voice carried, Santana noted, and squirmed behind her spot. "I saw her here!"

"Are you sure?"

"Artie, as a singer, with all due respect, I have developed, much like Quinn, a hearing that can deduce whether a note is-"

"I take it the answer is yes." Santana could see the DJ and the Broadway star enter the room carefully-they stuck to the walls and kept scanning the space.

"How the hell am I supposed to leave?" Santana mumbled to herself, aware of Marley breathing shallowly next to her, squatting behind a pose of the Mistress in a run of _Cats_.

"Santana?" The Latina glanced at the sound of her name; Artie thought that would lure her out? "You can't hide forever, Santana!"

"Try me." She mumbled, taking note of another exits two cutouts to her left. Signaling quickly to Marley, Santana knew she only had one chance to make this work twice for her.

Artie and Rachel kept to the wall, inching along it to where it met at the corner. Despite both of them looking, they couldn't spot her.

Santana held a finger up. As soon as Artie began his aerial scan from left to right again, she darted across to the next cutout, breathing a sigh of relief when she manages to get to it without any noise from the bells. A quick glance comfirmed that, yes, Marley made it too.

What was she thinking? She needed Quinn, damnit.

"Santana…!" Artie called, again, and Santana's heart almost stopped. He was pulling away from the wall, walking amongst the cutouts, his cameraman trailing behind. If he stepped any further, she was definitely going to get spotted.

"Puck, out! Puck, out!" Fucking hell. Santana darted to the last one in the row, as the other two contestants were startled enough to look up. Marley made it over too, doe eyes wider than Bambi. Santana made a mental note to thank her best friend for her timing.

"Oh my god, wasn't Quinn alone?"

"She took out Puck by herself. She's scary." Artie whistled, returning to his search, his head shaking slightly. Rachel, on the other hand, made a face and squatted down.

When their gazes locked, Santana stopped breathing.

"Artie!"

"_Dios mio_." Santana cursed at the same time Rachel screeched, and she got up, running down the tunnel, hearing Marley follow on her tail. Artie and Rachel were no doubt not far behind; why couldn't they just find their own? "Go get your own pair of binoculars!"

"Those are ours! You stole them from us!"

"You already have one of your own!"

"We spotted it first!" Rachel's yells rebounded in the small space, and Santana threw herself down a right hallway, practically swinging off the edge of the wall. She heard their footsteps follow, and Santana growled.

"Forget this." She spat, turning around to face the two people chasing her. Letting Marley edge around her, Santana prepared to square off with the panting pair. "Snixx does _not_ run."

"Snixx?" Artie breathed heavily, bracing himself on his knees, pushing his glasses up his nose. The poor boy looked ready to flop down and take a nap, and as Santana watched, he did just that, barely reacting to his heavy fall. He pulled his thighs closer to him, and waved off Rachel's worried look. "I'm ok. Just. Legs overheating."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. Get the binoculars."

Rachel drew herself up to her full height and Santana had to admit, she looked pretty scary. "Ready to wrestle, Hobbit?"

"Can't we be civil about this?" The starlet begins, staring her down.

Santana smirked. "Says the woman who chased me down god knows how many corridors?"

"Minor issue."

"Just like your height." Santana snickered, and slung the wanted object around her neck. "You walked right into that one, Manhands."

"How childish of you. I wonder how your fans would appreciate that."

"They'll forgive me." Santana winked into Rachel's camera, which was pointed directly at her. "Honesty is always the best policy, kids."

"And yet, sarcasm is the lowest form of wit."

"Maybe. But it's the excuse that lets me sleep at night." At this, Santana sprinted towards her, steadily anticipating her movement and countering the sidestep with a lunge at her chest. The star fell a few feet away from the DJ, and Santana took advantage of it to tug at the knot around her forearm.

The cloth caught, refusing to come undone.

It took Santana a few more tugs, until she realised it, and suddenly, she was laughing. "Oh my god, Berry. Your knot is as stubborn as you are!"

"Hey!" Artie tried to throw himself towards her, using his powerful arms to push him off the ground.

But it was too late, because Santana had the cloth in her hands, the tearing noise loud in the otherwise empty hallway. Everyone stared at the ripped fabric in tanned hands, and Santana smirked, low and long.

"Looks like Q was right."

"Rachel, out! Rachel, out!"

* * *

Artie swallowed. Shit. He was definitely in trouble now. Santana was going to take his bandana for real. He looked up at the Latina, who had gotten off Rachel and actually offered her hand for the Broadway star.

"Well, Frodo? You going to accept my help or not?" Santana seemed sincere enough, her eyes actually sparkling with adrenaline. Artie knew the minute Rachel was gone, it was his turn. He shut his eyes. And they were so close, damn it. Just when they had found another one!

"You don't have to sound so happy about it." Rachel was upset, he could tell. There was a shuffling, and then Rachel's voice was above him.

"Thank you, Santana."

"Hey, I got you out. If you ever tell anyone else about this spur of the moment niceness though, I will cut you."

"…it's going on tv, Santana."

"Still." Artie cracked open an eye. Rachel was smiling bemusedly, like she didn't know how to act around this new side of the actress, and to be honest, neither did Artie. Santana catches both their gazes and rolls her eyes. "Oh my god, will someone _please_ take the midget away?"

Her cameraman comes up, pointing down the way they came, and Rachel followed, shaking her head. "Good luck, Artie!"

Yeah, luck. Like that's going to save him from Satan. He looked up, startling slightly when he finds himself face to face with Santana.

"Whoa nelly."

"Relax." Santana chuckles, falling to the ground. That was when Artie realised that she was trying to catch her breath. "Damn Manhands. She got me in the ribs when we fell."

"Are you ok?" Artie knew, despite all appearances, that they were friends. Artie liked her refreshing honesty.

"Fine. What about you, half of T-101?"

"You cannot still tell me you didn't enjoy the Terminator movies."

"They were pretty cliché. Sarah Conner was badass though." Santana hung her head, filling her lungs. She looked up. "How are your thighs?"

Artie sighed. They felt like they were in an oven, and that was never a good thing. "Peachy."

Santana snorted. "Right. This time, sound like you mean it."

"I can't exactly take them off, can I?"

"Sure you can. Don't worry," she smirked, coming over. "-I have a strict 'no hating on paraplegics' rule."

"And here I thought it was the history of our friendship that kept me alive this long."

"That too." Santana winked, rolling up his jeans till they bunched up above his knee. "Holy tight jeans, Batman. Why don't you just switch to spandex?"

Artie tried to help, holding the rough fabric where it was. "Excuse me if you don't agree-" He cut himself off when he heard footsteps. It wasn't accompanied by the jingling of bells-could he somehow work this to his advantage?

But Santana had heard it too, and she quickly scrabbled back, head turned towards the noise, which was steadily growing louder.

Her eyes narrowed.

* * *

Brittany made a face. She was seriously lost. She had no idea where she was, even though she could have sworn that she had passed this intersection before with Puck and Sugar. Just how big was this maze?

Oh well. As long as she followed the keep left rule, she was fine, right?

Briefly, she wondered where Quinn had gone to-Brittany had to admire the woman's stamina.

Walking down the lone hallway, she turns around to catch eyes with her cameraman. "Where am I going?"

The man just shrugs, smiling slightly. Of course, they couldn't help her. She turned back, jumping a little when at the end of the corridor, she sees someone come towards her.

It's two someones, actually.

"Rachel?" Brittany calls, when she's halfway down the space, and the woman's eyes light up.

"Britta-oomph!" Her cameraman slaps his hand over her mouth, ignoring her squirming, as he leans down to whisper into her ear. Rachel slumps against him, rolling her own eyes, as she crosses her arms, and Brittany stops next to her.

"Rachel?"

"She's not allowed to speak. She's been eliminated." Wait. Brittany had just heard the announcement herself-did that mean…?

Rachel, as though able to hear her thoughts, nods furiously, despite her cameraman's amused glare.

Brittany grins. Winking at the Broadway star, Brittany continues down the corridor, keeping her weght on the balls of her feet, not wanting to make any noise. She hears a conversation around the corner, and she slows down even further.

She plasters herself to the wall.

"…sound like you mean it." Santana.

"I can't exactly take them off, can I?" Artie.

Brittany's eyes narrow. It didn't sound like they were fighting for bandanas…

"Sure you can." Wait, take what off? "Don't worry, I have a strict 'no hating on paraplegics' rule."

Hold the phone. Were they actually talking about taking something off? Brittany didn't realise she had missed Artie's reply until she hears Santana speak again.

"Holy tight jeans, Batman. Why don't you just switch to spandex?" Brittany scrunched her face, disregarding any pretense of discretion. Taking loud steps forward, she readied herself for a fight.

* * *

Quinn sighed, walking back to where the bouncy castle was. She wasn't even sure why she was doing this herself-Brittany had definitely gone past her, but Sugar hadn't.

Call it worry.

Stepping into the room with the hole, Quinn wonders what exactly is different. Besides the very obvious Kazatori laughing at something in it.

"Kazatori?"

"Oh my god, Quinn! I thought I was going to die alone in this pit! Help me!" Quinn pauses for a second, before rolling her eyes.

"_Now_ you have got to be kidding me." Shaking her head, Quinn picked her way amongst the disturbed soil-Brittany must've kicked it up, or maybe Sugar. Quinn would never have been so messy.

"Sugar?"

"Quinn, please. My ankle."

Scrunching her eyebrows, Quinn peered into the pit, seeing Sugar crumpled at the bottom, clutching at her joint.

"What happened?" Crouching down, Quinn made no move to extend a hand, eyes narrowed. Sugar huffed, pouting when a few clumps of dirt fell onto her with the movement. Kazatori laughed even harder-Quinn shot her a quieting look.

"I fell chasing you."

"No wonder I didn't hear you screaming." Quinn muttered, surveying the situation. She could help the girl out... "Let's make a deal."

"What deal?" Her bottom lip jutted out even further. "Can't the injured get a free pass?"

"I've seen foot injuries before-I don't think it's that bad."

"But it hurts! It has to be twisted!" When Quinn appears unamused, Sugar dramatically threw a hand to her forehead. "Oh, the agony! I see…I see my life flashing, Quinn!"

Quinn had to chuckle. Clearing her throat, she leaned further over the hole. "If you agree to my deal, I'll help you." _Sugar probably just jarred it_, Quinn thought. "Just say yes."

Sugar rolls her eyes, exhaling like it pained her to do so. "Fine…" Dragging out the word, she nodded. "What is it?"

"You give me your binoculars."

"No!" Sugar shifted, and winced, making Quinn wonder if she really did hurt it. Squinting, Quinn gripped the edge.

"Are you alright?"

"You obviously weren't listening." Sugar scowled, using a hand to massage her ankle. She bit her bottom lip, thinking over the proposition. "Fine. Only if you don't pull any funny stuff."

"Honey, if I was a comedian, I'd be doing stand-up with Gabriel Iglesias." She muttered, holding a hand out. Sugar sighed gratefully, and made to grab it, but Quinn tutted. "Binoculars."

Sugar gasped. "Really? I might have dislocated my joint, and you're worried I'll short-change you?"

Quinn smirked. "You'll live. Besides, I grew up with Santana Lopez, remember?" Beckoning with her fingers, Quinn patiently waited for her end of the deal.

Sugar rolled her eyes, pulling the strap from around her neck. "Here." Quinn nodded as she accepted it, adding it to the one already around her neck.

"Thank you. Now grab my hand." Quinn stuck her hand out again, compensating for the approaching weight by leaning over the edge. Eagerly, Sugar reached for it, her fingers gripping Quinn's wrist over her bandana easily.

And she pulled.

* * *

"Brittany." Santana sounded startled, Brittany noted, as she stopped right in front of her. She noticed Artie sitting by the wall, the cramped space putting her two steps away from the boy. He had a curious expression on his face, his gaze darting between the two of them faster than she could catch.

Almost like he was watching an impending tennis match.

Santana slowly rose from her crouch, her eyes open to Brittany now, freed from the shield of sunglasses. Brittany took a few moments to appreciate the dark, coffee tones of her irises, before sending a smile in her direction.

"Hey."

* * *

Quinn gasped as she tumbled into the pit, falling the short distance to land on her knees. Exhaling with the impact, she thudded against the dirt, dislodging more clumps into the small space.

She noted the both of them barely fit, squeezed tight as they were. Still, that didn't seem to stop Sugar from yanking on the knot on Quinn's bandana.

Quinn was pretty sure she stopped breathing, watching as the cloth came untied, pulling away from her wrist.

* * *

Santana was very surprised. Well, not really. She knew she was going to have to face off against the blonde. She had just been counting on having her best friend with her.

And she was totally not counting on getting really angry vibes from the fitness host.

"Hey." She returned, carefully narrowing her gaze, as she found a strong position. Brittany and her were only four steps apart, Artie in the middle. Suddenly, Santana found herself with a strong urge to hide her hands in her pockets. "What are you doing here?"

"Just looking. You know," Brittany rakes her gaze over both Artie and her, her intense blue eyes nearly making Santana's knees buckle. "-Sugar has a pair, Quinn has one, Artie has another, and you one more."

Santana noted that there was only one left. And no one seemed to know where it was. So if she could eliminate both Artie and Brittany right here, and pray that Quinn could take Sugar down, then they would have won.

"I take it you want mine?" Santana smirked, plastering it on as she crossed her arms, her voice coming out just the slightest bit raspier. Damn, the way Brittany was looking at her…

"If you don't mind."

* * *

Quinn stared at Sugar in shock, wondering what the hell just happened. That wasn't allowed, was it? Did that mean Quinn was out?

"No one said I couldn't." Sugar smirked, smug as she wrapped the cloth around her finger. Quinn swallowed, turning to Jake and Kazatori for instruction.

"But she can't, can she?"

Jake furrowed his brows. "We'll have to wait for the announcement. Hang on."

Quinn locked gazes with Sugar, forcing herself to breathe evenly.

In. Out.

In. Out.

* * *

"Are you willing to fight for it?" Santana tilted her head, forcing herself to focus. She had to play her cards just right. "If I give mine to you, will you do me a favour first?"

Brittany scrunched her brows. "I'll think about it."

Santana smirked. "Well, if we fight and you win, you'll have a pair of binoculars, but you'll still have to deal with me, _and_ Artie over there." Santana thumbed over to enunciate her point. "See, he's the last member of the blue team, and you'll still have to race against him to find the last pair, and then to the exit." Brittany's eyes flickered, and Santana's smile grew.

"The way I see it, you'll have to face me either way, and wouldn't it just be easier just to take him out first? Because then you wouldn't have to worry about someone else finding the danged things before you do."

Santana was making sense to her. She could see the realisation crossing across the blonde's beautiful face, and Santana, for a moment, felt a pang of guilt for manipulating her. But hey, all's fair in love and war, right?

Santana just really loved to win.

"Let's say…" Brittany began, taking a step closer. Artie sees the movement and scuffles away, nervously bititng his lip.

* * *

Damnit. Whoever said getting stuck between two women was worth it, was going to get his butt kicked, Artie thought.

* * *

Santana catches Brittany's action, countering recklessly with a step of her own. They were now two steps away, their cameramen fading into the background.

Santana locks stares with Brittany, before flicking to her friend's.

"Sorry, Artie."

* * *

"Yeah?" Jake and Kazatori both lifted their fingers to a headpiece Quinn hadn't noticed before. Tense, Quinn and Sugar both watched, as the crew nodded, faces unreadable.

Quinn's breath caught, as Jake extended a hand for the red bandana in Sugar's hand.

No way. Quinn feels her eyes go wide, as she desperately tried to catch her cameraman's gaze.

"Hunters can't be eliminated."

Quinn barely registers Sugar's sharp gasp, as she jumps onto the brunette.

* * *

"Yield! Truce! White flag!" Artie yells, squirming under Brittany's hold, moaning as Santana triumphantly wiggles the blue cloth from around his upper arm. Sliding it off the DJ, Santana winks at him and gives out a celebratory whoop.

"Yes…!" Dancing from foot to foot, Santana grinned wide. Artie just rolls his eyes, as Brittany released him from the armlock she had him in, apologetically rubbing his biceps where she had gripped.

"Didn't I tell you I would give it to you? What, did you want it in some foreign language?" He pouted, slumping in exhaustion. Ah, his thighs were definitely going to blister.

"Sorry, Artie." Brittany whispered, pulling the binoculars from around his neck gently. Artie shook his head at her.

"It's ok. It's that girl," he throws over the blonde's shoulder, eyes playfully sharp. "-the one dancing like a little kooky duck that needs to apologise."

"Hey!" Now it was Santana's turn to pout, the expression quickly turning into a scowl when Brittany catches her eye. "I regret nothing. And in case you forgot, it's my job to eliminate you."

"Artie, out! Artie, out!" At the announcement, Santana smirks, her mouth opening to say something else, when it continues.

"Sugar, out! Sugar, out!"

* * *

"Sorry, Sugar." Quinn smiled crookedly, offering her hand to help the brunette out of the hole. "By the way, did you _really_ hurt your ankle?"

The YouTube vlogger crosses her arms as she stands on the edge, her eyes rolling so hard, Quinn actually feared they would get stuck that way.

"God, the hole's the depth of my indoor baby pool."

* * *

As Artie was escorted away, he gave Santana a wink. "Go get 'er, Snixx."

Santana just shrugs, her eyes darting from his to meet Brittany's head on. Brittany narrowed her stare. Great, she was the last one.

So now she had to steal Santana's pair, and then pray by some miracle she found the last one before tracking down Quinn and getting hers.

Piece of cake.

Santana seemed to realise this as well, her expression turning from her usual smirk to a teasing one.

"You know how difficult this is going to be, right?"

Brittany shrugged. "I'll take my chances." She watched as Santana took a step closer to her in the narrow space, decreasing the gap between them to only three steps.

"Really? Because I think you need to have a little discussion with Snixx about that."

Brittany couldn't help it; she laughed. "Snixx?" God, Santana was adorable.

The Latina frowned. She hadn't meant to make the blonde laugh, even if she had the most attractive giggle in the world. Usually, the mention of her alter-ego made people run away in fear.

Hey, Snixx was the Hyde to Santana's Jekyll.

"I'm sorry." Brittany apologised, trying to stem her mirth with her hand when they only grew worse with Santana's indignation. "I really am, it's just…god." She reached a hand out, taking a step forward. Santana was so caught off-guard by her apparent good humour, that she didn't react.

"Did anyone ever tell you how cute you are?" No, but Santana was pretty sure Quinn had once told her she had a terrible gaydar.

"W-what?" Santana stuttered, before catching herself. This was _not_ the time! "I-I mean. Um. Don't think flattery will get you any-anywhere." She stumbled again when Brittany took one last step, bringing them less than an arm's length apart.

The look on the blonde's face was nothing short of evil. She looked like she was ready to kiss Santana right then and there, and goddamnit, those eyes! Santana knew how cliché it was to say, but it was true; she had never seen eyes so blue.

"I think," Brittany's voice was raspy and soft and totally did things to Santana's libido that she really didn't need at the moment. "-that it's gotten me close enough."

And then Santana was on the floor, Brittany straddling her, and she couldn't do more than gape in her shock. Did Brittany really just…

Her eyes narrowed as her competitive side kicked in. Oh, hell no. Lima Heights raised Santana better than that, even if it was Brittany's delicious thighs on either side of Santana's waist.

Santana shot a hand out to grip the wrist that was currently trying to pull the binoculars from around her neck. "Not so fast, Britt." The nickname slipped out naturally from her lips, and Santana watched as Brittany barely seemed fazed, only letting a corner of her lips quirk sharply.

Quickly, Santana found the strength to flip them over, pinning Brittany's errant hands to the ground, realising that her bandana was around her hips, tied to her belt loop. Cursing, she let her gaze linger for a second with Brittany's before lifting a hand to quickly untie the knot.

Brittany reared, causing Santana to fall onto her with a squeal, her warmth to mold perfectly with her body. Brittany was pretty sure her panties were a goner-damn, Santana was just too hot for her own good. And the way she had flipped them? Definite turn-on.

"Ready to give up?" Brittany panted, reaching her free hand up to struggle with the rope keeping the binoculars trapped. Santana growled-oh, in the name of everything that made sense in the world-and Brittany found the hand trapped again, joining the other on the ground.

"Bad Brittany." Santana scolded, her dark eyes smouldering as they raked across Brittany's face. It took everything in her to remember that they were _filming_. So as fast as she could manage, she sat on Brittany's hips, her left coming to untie the knot, as her right kept Brittany's occupied.

She had nearly gotten the cloth undone when Brittany bucked again. This time, Santana found herself sliding off, choking slightly as the rope of the binoculars caught around her throat, before coming free.

She cursed, but her eyes lit up as she realised what she was holding in her fingers.

This time, the announcement was immediate.

"Brittany, out! Brittany, out!"

* * *

A/N: Bad Brittany indeed:) i was just wondering what you guys thought about Britt feeling the same way about San? drop me a review to tell me about it!

thanks so much for reading!


	9. Pretty and Gay

Santana pouted next to her, still miffed over her friend's decision to not follow the bus along to Hollywood Boulevard just to watch the others entertain their fans and the tourists.

(Curse Quinn and her sound reasoning of not wanting to 'spoil the surprise for herself'.)

They were walking into the parking lot, alone now that the taping was over, and the crew were needed for editing and rush.

(Santana had ruffled Marley's hair and given Jake a fist bump as a goodbye, while Quinn had rolled her eyes and stuck with a polite thank you on both their behalves, and a wide smile.)

Rachel wasn't far behind, chatting with the talkshow host about some Broadway play the two had watched together-apparently, they had gone on different nights, and what a pity that was!

"Stop that. I can't be held responsible for what will happen if that goes on." Quinn mumbled, thinking about the way Brittany had been glancing over to watch them interact with one another throughout the entirety of the last segment.

(Quinn wanted to punch Santana's stomach in for not realising that the blonde was into her as well, because the sexual tension between the two of them had been awkward enough to walk around with before-they certainly didn't need the added factor of Brittany thinking she had competition.)

Santana raised an eyebrow, pout immediately melting into a smirk. "What, is this where you finally tell me you're attracted to me?"

Quinn scoffs. "Right. Ew."

Santana chuckles, pressing the fob of her car keys. When it was unlocked, she opened the driver's door to slide inside, waiting for Quinn to do the same. Rachel was still talking animatedly to Mercedes, who by this time either looked extremely invested in the conversation, or was brushing up on her acting skills.

(She wouldn't admit it to anyone, but sometimes she found Rachel's stubbornness to be quite an admirable trait.)

Santana tried to let herself jump into the driver's seat and drive away, but ultimately she sighed, feeling generous.

"Hey, Berry. Want a ride home?"

The starlet turned immediately, a picture-perfect grin showing all her bright, white teeth aimed directly at Santana. The actress pretended to shield her eyes, making bubbling noises.

"Ah, help me! It's too bright! Quinn, I'm melting! I'm melting!" She ended her little performance by slumping to the ground, heralded by Quinn's eyeroll and Mercedes giggles.

Unfazed, the formidable Rachel Berry merely took it as a compliment, stalking over to the passenger side of Quinn's car. "I do appreciate you noticing, because I spend fifteen minutes alone brushing and flossing. Also," she adds, crossing her arms. "-I am particularly proud of your _Wizard of Oz_ reference."

Santana straightens, brushing herself off as she lets her eyes roll twice, just to be obnoxious. "I do try, though I was quoting Donkey in_ Shrek_." Turning to the other woman, she tilts her head. "Shouldn't you be at rush?" She asked, referring to the industry term for watching all the footage they had at the end of the day of filming.

Mercedes shook her head. "Nah, but I should get going. Thank you for being so enthusiastic about this, guys." Her smile was genuine and heartfelt. "I was seriously scared y'all would back out or something."

Quinn points to her best friend, a disbelieving look on her face. "This one? Miss an opportunity to show up someone else? Never!"

They laughed, as Santana scowled. "Funny." When they show no signs of stopping, she clears her throat. "Anyway, Wheezy. When's the next taping?"

The host hums at her, pulling out her phone to check. She scrolls through some things, eyes furrowed, before she stops suddenly, a laugh bursting out of her.

"Don't you worry about that." She says, tucking the device back into her jeans, winking at the trio. "Just be ready. We'll send you a message. Oh," she pauses, as if she had just thought of something. "-the first episode is premiering at the end of this week!"

All three blinked.

"That's fast!" Santana's eyes widened.

Mercedes shook her head, amused. "Never doubt Sue Sylvester."

Rachel pipes up. "So what timeslot is it getting?"

Mercedes grins. "Ten p.m. Meaning we can afford to be a bit risque."

"God, I shudder at the thought of Finnocence in anything with the word 'risque' in it." Santana made a face.

"Don't be rude, Santana. I think Finn has some charm to him." Rachel says, nodding slightly.

"Yeah, it's hidden under all that baby fat he never lost." Quinn prodded her in the ribs, making her wince. "Ok, ok. I'll stop, god."

"Well, as much fun as this has been, I should probably get this one home, before she starts on someone else." Quinn says, raising an eyebrow at Santana, who holds her arms up as she slid into her seat, starting her engine. "Thanks for having us on the show. We're looking forward to this Friday."

"Sure. Just look forward to the next taping more." Mercedes smiles, as Santana starts her car, the engine purring to life. "Oh, and Santana, remind me next time that I have to talk to you about something."

"What?" Santana scrunched her face up, pausing in the process of flipping on her sunglasses. "What about?"

"Nothing that can't wait. Oh, and take my advice. Start working out." Mercedes smirked, backpedaling towards the white tent, as Quinn and Rachel entered her car, getting ready to leave. Rolling her eyes, Santana shut her car door, eager to be home and make sweet love to her bed.

(So maybe she was excited for the premiere at the end of the week.)

Stumbling onto set first thing Monday morning definitely made one of her top ten worst ways to start a day. Santana blew out a breath, as she tried to collect the energy to leave her car.

(Quinn had a day off, and while she was glad for her friend, she loathed her for the same reason.)

From opposite her, she could see Sam crossing in front of his trailer, suddenly sitting on the steps and curling into himself. She couldn't resist a chuckle-the guy looked about ready to fall asleep right there and then.

Who would have thought it? One day spent running and chasing people around would wear you out, Santana found out. Not to mention the fact that she counted at least two new bruises in places she never expected to bruise.

(And no, not _there_.)

Picking up her coffee cup, she killed her engine, muttering a pep talk to herself.

"Come on, Lopez. You're Santana Diabla Lopez. And Santana Diabla Lopez does not get beaten by mere muscle aches. Even if the muscles aching are every single motherlovin' one of them."

God, she needed a nap. Downing a large gulp of her cappucino, she left her car, locking it as she made her way over to her co-star, who hadn't moved from his previous position.

"Hey Trouty."

"No…morning silence. Morning silence." A muffled voice repeated, waving a hand ineffectually. Santana raised an eyebrow, feeling the caffeine begin to take effect.

"As much as I value the concept, and really, I do," She said empathetically, settling herself next to him on the steps, waiting for him to stretch out. "-our director will have our heads if we're not in makeup in ten minutes."

"How many scenes do you have today?"

"Only two." Santana answered, taking another sip. "I'll have a pretty long break then though-I don't know if I want to nap or work on lines."

"We could do line runs together?"

"Sure. We're doing the kiss scene soon, right?"

Sam nodded, yawning as he winced, stretching his arms above his head. "Man, that will be a weird scene."

"As long as your lips aren't chapped, it'll be fine." She smirks, knowing how self-conscious the boy was about that particular feature. Sam just rolls his eyes, pulling out his chapstick to rub it across his lips.

Santana leans back against the steps, staring out at the few paparazzi loitering at the gate of the lot, hoping to catch something juicy. It wasn't an unusual sight, really. With such a popular show, she would actually have been worried if it was.

"Hey, am I getting everything?"

"How should I know, Guppy?" Santana flips her aviators onto her head, drinking from the quickly emptying cup. "Maybe a little more on the left."

"What? Here?" His finger was just shy.

"Around there, yeah."

"Thanks."

"As long as I don't have to do it myself." She retorts, glancing quickly and then realising that no, the boy still missed the spot. "Give me."

Sam scrunched his eyebrows, because the last time he had given his chapstick to her, Santana had hidden it under their director's seat and caused such a commotion that they had to push back filming a few minutes.

(The two had been lectured on the evils of goofing off during work.)

Santana sighs, wiggling her fingers again. "I'm not interested in repeats, Sammy-boy."

Reluctantly, Sam gives it up, passing it to her, who then twirls her index in a circle, never letting go of her cup as she does so. Sam takes the hint and begins to rotate his head, trying to guess what Santana is looking for.

Santana smirks, shaking her head slightly as the breeze catches their hair.

"I feel like I'm in a shampoo commercial right now."

"Really? Wouldn't it be for the chapstick?" Sam tries not to move, doing quite well, considering the size of his lips. He wonders about the question he has had since yesterday.

"No, because I spent absolutely zero time on my hair this morning, and the wind is just making it worse." Santana scoffs, running the stick over the corner of his lips just so. "Now, smear it, smear it, smear it!"

Sam laughed, as he pressed his lips together. Pulling away, he pointed at her. "Thanks. So, I have a question."

Santana raised an eyebrow. Sam takes this as a good sign, and continues. "See, you have two tickets for the _Robin_, so I was thinking-"

"Sorry, Trouty, but not happening." Smirking widely, Santana hands him the beige tube, standing and stretching, feeling the wind tug at the edge of her shirt. The shaggy blonde pouts, pulling on her free wrist and making his voice deep and sexy.

"You know you want to."

"If you were trying to impersonate a member of the male population, I would like to remind you that this? Is totally lady-loving. Like, totally."

"Aw, San."

"Try Q. She might flip for you." Santana suggests, knowing that if her best friend did say yes, _she_ sure as hell wouldn't mind. Standing, she drains the last of her drink, dropping the empty container to her side as she stetched. "Besides, I'm saving it for someone else."

"Would that someone be a certain not-me blonde?"

"Quinn already has tickets, Trouty." She plays dumb, brushing past him to make her way to the makeup trailer.

Sam grins, his voice like someone who knew he had the ball and wasn't about to give it up. "You know who I'm talking about. You're totally blushing."

"Am not. The wind's just cold, that's all." Santana counters.

"Sure it is."

"Was it this cold yesterday on the Boulevard?" She asked innocently, her lips curving in a smirk that made Sam wince as he trailed after her, all his earlier lightness gone.

"Oh, ha ha."

"Can't wait to see it."

"Sure you can't."

* * *

Santana was just leaving the parking lot when she got the call.

"Hey Q, what's up?" She asked, as she turned out into the narrow drive between the gates and the main road, smiling a little at the paps still stationed outside. "I'm kinda driving now."

"San, I screwed up."

"That's not new." Santana commented dryly, smirking as she paused at a red light to switch over to using a headset. "What'd you do now?"

"I ordered some books, but the guy told me I never specifically requested for home delivery."

Santana made a face. "Let me guess. You want me to collect them?"

"I need them, San. They're mostly books for this presentation I'm doing at a school tomorrow."

Santana scrunched her nose at a fellow driver who cut into her lane. "Oh, is this that outreach thing Emma roped you guys into?"

"Uh-huh." Quinn sighed into the phone. "I'm sorry, San. I would go myself, but there are a lot of books."

Santana rolled her eyes as she paused at the next light to flip a finger at the other woman driver from behind her tinted windows. Ass. "Where am I going? I'll meet you there."

"Thank you!" Quinn cheered, giving her the address in a breathless voice, and Santana guessed she was getting dressed at the moment. "Really, S."

"You owe me dinner." Santana swung a right at the next junction, realising that she wasn't that far away from the bookstore. "I'll be there in ten minutes."

"Alright. I'll meet you at the café. You sound like crap."

"Thank you." Santana rolled her eyes. "You sound like Cursing Oprah."

"Shut up." Quinn hung up, and Santana huffed a laugh.

Pulling up to the bookstore, she parked and got out, fiddling in the glove box for her aviators again. "Coffee." She murmured, sliding them on as she locked her car, turning to head to the quaint coffee shop, a small hole-in-the-wall establishment.

The barista behind the counter looked like a cross between a Ken doll, and the porcelain cat her mother kept on the mantlepiece. Like he could break any minute. Santana felt an irrational urge to stroke his coiffed hair.

"How may I help you?"

Santana snapped herself out of it, at the sound of his voice. "Could I get…" Her eyes scanned the order board behind him, her tired body not able to figure the fancy script out. Huffing slightly, she turned back to him and smiled slightly. "Actually, what would you give an aching, sleep-deprived woman who just clocked out of a less than stellar day at work?"

"Besides a vodka cranberry and a massage?" He joked, his eyebrow raising (did he trim them?) in amusement. Santana smirked, biting back a laugh.

"Yes, besides that."

"Well, I'd get you an espresso, but you don't look the lady. How about a mocha frappucino?"

"With extra whipped cream? You read my mind."

"So I've been told." He laughed, and it was a light, piercing laugh that normally would have scraped on her nerves, but with the promise of coffee, she relented. As he began to put her order together, she squinted her eyes at him, unable to stop her question from spilling out.

"So, not to be rude, or anything, but did you just roll out of bed this morning into a tub of wood varnish, or do you always look this polished?"

He raised an eyebrow, seemingly stuck between a state of bemusement and offense, before deciding on flattered. "Thank you, but no. This takes work." He says, turning to squirt a couple of ounces of liquid into a cup.

"You do it yourself?" Santana asks, appreciating his spin on the usually unflattering black polo and slacks uniform most cafés had. The ascot around his neck played up his eyes, a piercing, intelligent pair that seemed distant as he added ice to the mixture.

"Mmhmm." He spins back around, dumping the contents of the cup into a blender, and adding a shot of chocolate and milk into it. Over the loud sounds of it doing its work, he yells, "My boyfriend makes fun of me, but makeup and hair is the 'make or break' of an ensemble."

Ah, pretty and gay. Just her type. Smirking, she pulls out her phone to check the time, tapping a fingernail against the back as he pours everything back into the cup.

"Mocha frappucino with extra whipped cream." He grins, squirting the fluffy sweetness over the top before covering it. Placing it on the counter, he waves away her money, "On the house. You look like you need it."

"Seriously? Oh god, thank you so much…Kurt." She says, reading his nametag. The man just nods at her before turning around when someone calls his name from the ktichen behind.

"Well," he faces her again, already backpedaling. "-it was nice meeting you. Hopefully your evening picks up from here."

"Yeah, I think it already did." She reaches for her drink, flipping her sunglasses up as she waggles her fingers. "Thanks again, Kurt. I owe you one."

So maybe the look on his face as he realised that he had been talking to Santana Lopez was funny. But only maybe.

* * *

"Q, did you set the couch up?" Santana yelled from the kitchen, walking to the fridge to pull out the beer she had kept in there.

The week had come and gone in a blur for Santana, who had focused just on trying to nail her scenework with Sam, to distract herself from constantly sleeping. It didn't help though, and she had caved and dragged herself and her blonde friends to a massage on Wednesday, in an attempt to relax, which had helped some, but not a lot.

Mostly though, work had been a distraction from her own thoughts, that would not stop thinking about that moment in the maze with a certain blonde fitness host. Santana could have sworn that they were flirting, but then again, like she said, her gaydar was the worst, according to Quinn, who could call a gay person out from across the room.

So maybe she hadn't just said that she was saving a ticket for someone else just to get Sam off her back. Maybe she was hoping – in some far away future, in the back of her mind – that maybe she would grow comfortable enough around Brittany to actually ask her to come along with her on the trip? But just as friends, if she wanted that.

Just to hang out.

"Yeah. Come on, you're gonna miss it!" Quinn shouted from the couch, making Santana roll her eyes, as she grabbed two bottles. On her way to the living room, Santana reached for the dial on the wall to dim the main lights, moving to settle herself next to her best friend once she was done.

(Quinn still didn't know about the moment.)

"Here. Did I miss an important commercial? Oh woe is me." Santana scoffed, handing Quinn one bottle, as she leant back and kicked her feet up onto the coffee table. Ignoring Quinn's noise of protest, Santana flicked the top off her bottle, taking a deep gulp as she sighed. "Shit, do your muscles still ache?"

"Some of them." Quinn hugged a pillow to her chest, curled up around the arm of the couch, her legs tucked underneath her. Glancing over, Santana patted her lap, encouraging her to stretch out. Smiling gratefully, Quinn rested her feet across her friend. Setting her bottle on the table, Santana rested a palm on the shin, as she watched the screen for a minute.

"Hey, isn't this your song?" Santana frowned, recognising the tune. Her lips curved the opposite way when Quinn nods, pleased with herself. "I didn't know you guys gave your permission for this!"

"I kinda wanted it to be a surprise?" Quinn shrugged, smiling slightly at how much pride Santana was showing on her behalf. "Oh, and Puck kept swearing that we were gonna sell out by signing the deal."

"That raccoon doesn't know what he's talking about." Santana scoffed, her hand unconsciously massaging the blonde's calves. "Great job, Q."

"Oh my god, stop being so sappy, S." Quinn covered her blushing face with her pillow, only lifting it when Santana laughed. Taking a sip of her beer, Quinn sat up, tucking the pillow behind her back and between the arm of the couch. "Hey, it's starting."

Both of them hushed up as the disclaimer played across the screen.

* * *

A/N: Hey readers! I know I've given you all the impression that I've died or something, but the truth is life got too life-y and I had to put this on the backseat. But I'm back-ish, and managed to get something up for you. This is more a filler, but I actually attempted to write Quinntana watching the premiere together - I don't know if it'll be good, so drop a review if you want, I would really appreciate it.

Also: I know, I know, so much Quinntana and plot seeding, not enough Brittana and sweet lady kisses. But we're getting there, people, I promise. For those of you who are sticking around, I adore you, and am so encouraged by your presence.

As always, thank you for reading it!


	10. Glee: Pilot

The room was professional, and bare, with just a cushion chair in front of the camera, against a cream background. A clapboard appeared in front of the camera, and a voice off-screen yells, "Glee, introduction, take 1, and…action!"

Suddenly, Mercedes is there, seated on the chair, leaning forward with a grin on her face.

"Hey everyone! You might know me as Mercedes Jones, and from my talkshow, 'The Troubletones', where I talk about the latest music, celebs, and trends! But I'm not here today, to tell y'all about that." She pauses for a smirk. "I'm here to tell you about the show y'all are gonna be watching today. Even as we speak, some of the hottest stars in the industry are being gathered together to participate in 'Glee', a reality show unlike any you've seen before!"

"Here, you'll see your stars as they truly are, having to overcome obstacles in order to win the ultimate prize, the Golden Lungs!" The camera pans down to show a huge golden trophy, with a set of lungs sitting on the wooden base. "Each week, the stars will compete, but the winner of this trophy rests on your shoulders – you, the audience." She points at the screen.

"But more on that later." Mercedes laughs. "Because right now, I'm sure you're just as clueless as our stars about what this show is all about. Here's the thing – they have no idea what they're about to go through too. So without further ado, enjoy the show!"

The screen fades to black, as the word 'glee' flashes across the background. In less than a minute, the scene switches to a shaky camera shot of a white door, with a golden doorknob and the lettering spelling out '4B'.

* * *

"Wait, is that our door?"

"Shit, yes. Oh my god, I thought they'd edit this out!"

* * *

A hand presses a doorbell placed next to it, and the camera steps back. Inside, the sound of ducks quacking can be heard, and then a wait.

"That's a funny bell." A female voice snorts.

"Should we press it again?" A male voice asks, and the hand presses the bell again. Nothing.

"Maybe knocking." Another female this time, sharper, and a paler hand knocks furiously on the door.

There is silence for a moment more, and just as the hand raises to knock again, the door is flung open, and the extremely-pissed face of Santana Lopez appears on the screen. It is obvious she has just woken up, her hair falling over her shoulders wildly, her eyes barely open, as she rubs them with a hand. She yawns in a silk robe, and then opens her eyes enough take in the scene in front of her.

"What the actual-" Was all she said, before the door is slammed shut again, and the cameraman takes a step backwards. There are no sounds from behind the door, and the camera moves to show a brunette, an Asian, and a blonde woman, watching anxiously as the cameraman apparently puts his ear to the wood. Each member of the crew is dressed casually, carrying pieces of filming equipment.

Suddenly, the camera moves back to focus on the door, just as it is pulled open again. Santana looks a bit more awake this time, though still tired. "Quinn is coming down right now, and unless you're someone I can sue, leave."

"Sue Sylvester sent us." The blonde woman walks up, crossing her arms with a hard smile. "We're here to set up," she says, pushing into the house, and beckoning for the rest to enter. Santana relents, and as the door opens further, Quinn Fabray can be seen standing by the stairs in their apartment, dressed in an oversized hoodie and sweatpants. The blonde surveys their home, and the camera follows her gaze, taking in the large living room, and the bay windows of their apartment, the dining table that was tucked in front of their kitchen and before the stairs, and the kitchen island and counter that separated their kitchen from the living room.

"Could you both sit at the dining room table while we figure out some logistical stuff?"

* * *

"At least you didn't swear at all, so far."

"That's one good thing. And you know another? My boobs _do_ look phenomenal in that robe."

* * *

The scene switches to a split-screen of nine different doors – all of varying colours. On the top row, from right to left, there was a blue door, a white door with the numbers 42 on it, and a brown door with a star knocker. In the middle, there was a green door with the numbers 1A, Santana and Quinn's door, and a black door with 2A on it. On the bottom, in the same fashion, a black-trimmed white door, a grand double-door entrance, and the last, another plain white door.

* * *

"I'm gonna guess. Bottom left, Artie's; next to that, Sugar; bottom right, that's Sam's."

"Puck and Finn are still in that artsy building the record label bought for them, remember?"

"God, I nearly choked on the body spray in Puck's place. Rachel's is-"

"We both know which one's Rachel's, San."

"Which one do you think is Brittany's?"

* * *

In each split-screen save for the roommates's, a hand raises to announce their presence, and the doors open individually. A celebrity appears from behind each, their reactions all somewhat similar expressions of surprise.

* * *

"I totally called all of them! Well, except for Boy Chang."

"Looks like Brittany has the blue door."

"Is she wearing a onesie?"

* * *

The screen zooms in on the blue door, letting that fill the scene. Brittany Pierce was dressed in her pyjamas, a onesie in the shape of a dinosaur. Her hair was up in twin pigtails, hanging over her shoulders.

"Oh my god." She laughs, eyes wide in the light of her porch. Clapping her hands once, she covers her face. "Oh my god, this is so embarrassing."

"Sue sent us here?"

"Yeah, of course. Come on in. Sorry, I wasn't exactly expecting visitors." Brittany held the door open for them, flipping a light switch on, illuminating the hallway. "Uh, don't head down that way. That's the living room, and I was having a marathon session, so it's kind of a mess." She led them towards the left, and the camera followed her back down the hallway to the kitchen. It was homey, full of appliances that obviously saw a lot of use. The camera focused on the fridge, full of wacky magnets, and photos.

"Why don't you guys set up on the back porch? The sun comes up from there, so you'll have great light. You guys want water or anything?"

"No, we're fine."

"Right. Well, I'm going to head upstairs to change real quick while you do your thing." Brittany blushes, inching away and playing with the sleeves of the onesie. It even came with a real dinosaur head hood.

* * *

"Aww, she's adorable. San, you're totally staring."

"Shut it, Q."

* * *

The screen zooms out, and then switches over to the white door with the numbers on it. Mike Chang was already dressed in a tank and running shorts, pulling his earbuds out and hanging it around his neck. He looks caught off-guard, and offers them a confused smile.

"Hey."

"Hi. Sue Sylvester sent us here?"

"Oh." Mike scratched the back of his head, and looked back into his dark house, before shrugging and letting them in. "Sorry, I was just about to go on my morning run."

"Oh, sorry to interrupt."

"It's fine. I'm sure whatever Sylvester has in store will take a couple of years off my life to worry about."

* * *

"Whoa, go Boy Chang!"

"Didn't know he had it in him. Nice."

* * *

He leads the camera down to his living room. "So what happens now?"

* * *

"Ok, I take it back. Boy Chang is too nice."

"You would have already known that, if you'd actually _watch_ him on 'Losing Champions'."

* * *

The scene does the same transition, and moves on to the star knocker. Rachel Berry looks sweaty and awake, dressed casually in a tank and some really short shorts.

* * *

"Whoa, why doesn't Berry wear those shorts out?"

"Not everyone likes showing off their legs like you do."

* * *

"Oh, hello." Rachel smiles, showing off a row of perfectly lined teeth. "You've caught me in the middle of my morning training regime. I was just doing some vocal work before proceeding to run on my treadmill." The sounds of some musical showtune float out of her home.

"Uh…Sylvester told us to be here."

"Oh, right. Silly me. Um, why don't you…follow me to the backyard. My house is kind of private. If you don't mind." Rachel says, stepping out and shutting the door behind her. "I've just remodeled my back porch. It's perfect for lounging now."

As they rounded the back of her quite sizable home, the camera showed a spacious back patio, sheltered and furnished with a classy porch swing, around a coffee table. A flatscreen was mounted on the wall next to the sliding doors, which, in the light of the porch, hid the inside of her house from the cameras. Facing the television was a cute set of vintage café décor, and the main light source was a tasteful chandelier hanging from overhead.

* * *

"Berry finally finished her back porch, didn't she?"

"She's been complaining about it since forever. Thank god she didn't show them her indoor pool – do you remember those freaky headshots of herself on the walls?"

"Ha, her 'interior designer's choice' my ass."

* * *

"Why don't you settle down here. Can I get you boys anything?"

"No, we're good. Uh, you can go ahead and finish your morning…routine. They said someone will contact us later."

"Good. You don't mind if I finish my vocal warm-ups here, do you?"

* * *

"You gotta admire the Hobbit's ability to make the most of an audience."

"San, be nice."

* * *

The scene shifts to the green door, where Noah Puckerman is standing half-dressed, wearing only sweatpants. "Hey dudes. Welcome to Casa de Puckerman."

"Sue sent us."

"Kinda figured." He opens the door for them, into his apartment, the epitome of a bachelor's pad. The entertainment system, the gaming consoles, the vintage Pac-Man arcade machine in the corner. "You guys want a morning drink?" He asks, heading to his open bar, opening the shelves behind it to show off his liquor collection.

"Uh, that's cool."

* * *

"I actually can believe that Puck is neater than Finn."

"You forget Q; didn't Hudson go to the army for like, six seconds in a past life?"

"Still, I'm impressed Puck doesn't have underwear stuck under a cushion or something."

* * *

"Oh, uh." Puck was mixing himself a drink, when he lifted a frosted glass from inside an under-the-bar fridge, with a red lacy thong hanging off it. "Sorry dudes." He picked it up with a smirk, tucking it into the pocket of his sweats. "She stayed the night."

* * *

"I take it back."

"Wholeheartedly."

* * *

Next it was Finn, whose hair stood up in all directions, and it was even clearer than Santana that he had just rolled out of bed. "Hi."

"Sorry, but Sue sent us."

"Who?" Finn mumbled, pulling at the collar of his shirt, hiding a yawn with his other hand.

"Sue Sylvester?"

"Oh, right. Yeah. Sure." Looking around, he tucked his hands into his pockets. It takes him a minute of staring at the cameras for it to hit him "Oh, sorry. C'mon in."

His apartment was laid out the same as Puckerman's, with the open bar and everything. The main difference was the large amount of football paraphrenalia littering the place, almost cluttered, but the discord in the room wasn't hurtful on the eyes.

"Water?"

"That's fine, thanks."

"Cool. So, what're you guys doing here?"

* * *

"Finn's really not a morning person."

"Clearly. I'm pretty sure the only thing that'll get him out of bed is if someone steals his drum kit."

"Did I tell you about that one time when he accidentally kicked a hole into his floor tom getting out of bed? Right before a recording session?"

* * *

The show moves on to Artie Abrams, who has wheeled himself up to the door, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Can I help you?"

"Sue Sylvester-"

"Say no more. Come on in." He pushes his wheelchair back into his hallway, smiling apologetically. "Sorry I can't hold the door. I was up all night mixing a few songs for Not Indie's next demo."

"Oh, could we have a sneak peak?"

"Shut it, Carl. We're not here to goof around."

"Sorry."

Artie chuckles, leading them past his stairs and into the living room. "I might, if you'll tell me what's going on."

* * *

"Artie was telling me about those."

"Already thinking up lyrics?"

* * *

Sugar Motta looked as though she had walked off some incredibly expensive Paris runway for sleepwear.

"Hello. My daddy told me not release the hounds on you two. You're welcome."

"Uh, thanks. I guess?"

"Sure. What are you guys doing here?" Sugar cocks her head, not bothering to invite them inside. "I didn't know that papparazzi dressed so bulkily. You look like an elephant gave birth to a child."

"...Sue sent us?"

"Sue? Sue as in Susie Blanchett from two doors down? Oh, wow, she's never told me she had foreign-looking manservants tending to her every whim now. I should tell daddy we need some too-"

"Sue Sylvester sent us about the email!"

Sugar paused, raising an eyebrow, stark in the harsh porch light. "Oh, why didn't you just say so?"

* * *

"That Sugar chick is weird."

"Isn't she exactly your type, though? All rude and sass."

"You're one to talk, Lady Fabgay."

* * *

Finally, they move on to the last door, where Samuel Evans is dressed only in his boxers, frozen in the middle of running a hand through his hair.

"Uh, hello?"

Sam snapped himself out of his daze, looking down at himself, and the mini-Wookie clearly stamped on his only article of clothing. Immediately, he blushed scarlet, shutting the door with a slam, leaving the camera alone on the porch.

* * *

"Nice to know my present for him is getting some use."

"He made weird noises over that for weeks, San."

"Still, now that it's on tv, it's official. Samuel Evans is the biggest nerd to ever nerd."

* * *

He appears again, more dressed this time, opening the door wider in his sweatpants and tight shirt. "You can edit that out, right?"

"Yeah, sure. Look, Sue told us to wait with you."

"Oh." He looked around him, once, twice, and then he squints at the screen. "Are you alone?"

"Uh, it's just the two of us."

"Good." Sam cracked a grin. "Well, then, come in."

His home was more like the nesting pit of a Tumblr fanboy, with blown-up comic scans up on walls, and posters of James Cameron's Avatar and every superhero movie ever made. Flicking on a switch, the living room was bathed in multi-coloured light from five individual lightsabers scattered around the room.

* * *

"Shit, Guppy Lips told me he had missed the last of the limited edition stock! That liar!"

"Sit down San, you'll spill your beer!"

* * *

"Make yourselves at home. Do you need anything? Breakfast? Water?"

"No, we're good."

He opened his fridge as the camera focused on a blown up scan of the new 52, the one with Renee Montoya and Kate Kane kissing for the first time.

* * *

"Double shit! I told him he couldn't make a scan from my comics!"

"You're so cleaning that up."

* * *

"So," Sam sat down on his couch next to them, taking a swig from his water bottle. "-what's going on?"

* * *

"I liked our introduction best."

"Fuck yeah, Q. We're the only ones with any action, anyway."

* * *

As they zoomed out of the focused shot, the split-screen appeared again, and at almost the same time, their phones buzzed with a text. At the same time, all of them picked up the call, the editing team having cut out the individual calls to catch them up on the programme.

The screen shifted on the different members reading it out loud, revealing their first task of finding their liason. They then decided to focus on Brittany, who had changed into a different shirt by now, the same outfit she had been wearing for the shoot.

"So…who exactly am I looking for?" She looks at the camera, which jostled slightly, as she narrowed her eyes playfully. "Don't just shrug at me." Sighing, she blows her hair out of her face, tapping a few buttons on her phone. "Well, if that isn't a random location, I don't know what is."

Standing, she brushes herself off, tucking her phone into her pocket. Giving herself a little jump to hype herself up, she beckons to the camera. "Come on, let's go."

* * *

"Santana, you could-"

"I don't want to hear it."

* * *

Puck is onscreen now, walking out to his car and checking his phone. Just then, Finn bumps into him on his way to his own car, and Puck notices the camera crew behind him.

"Dude, no way."

"You too?"

"Yeah. Shit," Puck smirks, punching his friend in the arm. "I hate you for not telling me."

"You didn't either." Finn smiled, before pointing to his phone. "So what coordinates did you get?"

"To some park. I don't know where it is."

"Really? I didn't get the same ones." Finn scratched the back of his head in confusion. "Man, this is weird. What do you think is going on?"

"I don't know, man. But it hasn't started to freak me out yet."

"Well, I'll see you around?" Finn says, heading to his car. Puck nods, and walks backwards, looking at his phone till he gets to his, and then tilting his head up to talk to the camera.

"Alright. Here's Puckerman's gameplan: step one, the Puckster goes in, and wins. That's it. That's the plan." He says, arrogantly smirking. "Seriously, it's foolproof. And even though Finn's like my brother from another mother, but definitely the same father, he's not going to stand in the way of me winning the Golden Intestines or whatever it is they have for winning."

He throws his head back for a maniacal laugh.

* * *

"Well, Puck is going to be milking his airtime, I see."

"I think he'll try anything to bring another girl home."

"And that's why he keeps his place so clean!"

* * *

Making her way on foot to the nearest bus stop, Rachel turns around to talk to the camera.

"I've never been on a reality show before. I've never understood why they never took the chance to properly introduce themselves first. Hi, I'm Rachel Berry." She waves at the screen, a winning smile on her face. "I have to admit, I have no idea what is going on, but I don't think I mind much. I do wonder who my fellow contestants are."

Rachel checks her phone, and slows to a stop, waiting for the bus to come by and pick her up. "I'm heading to the Boulevard, it seems. This is perfect!" Rachel beams, looking up. "I haven't had time in months to pay my proper respects to Barbara Streisand!"

* * *

"Imagine if one of these days she ever got to meet the woman in person."

"Well, I'm unfollowing her on twitter then."

"Now imagine what would happen if the woman liked me more than her."

"San, that's almost too cruel."

* * *

Mike was jogging down his street, following the directions on his phone. Humming a tune to himself, he turned down the street with his destination, and stopped right in front of where he needed to be.

"Man."

The fish-and-chips shop was certainly non-descript, and with a sigh, Mike steps inside. Almost immediately, a girl pops up from behind the counter, eyes wide and bright. "Mike!"

"Hey, Sarah." He smiles politely. "How are you?"

"Good! Great actually, now that you're here! Uh, who're they?"

"Oh, these guys?" Mike turned. "Uh, they're here filming me for a show, actually."

"Cool." Sarah nods, looking between Mike and then the cameras. "Hi, I'm Sarah!"

Mike shuffled behind her, looking around and backing away slowly. "Actually, do you know if anyone's waiting to give me something?"

Sarah seems to take a moment to think about it, before she brightens again. "Oh, there is this one woman in the corner, over there!" She points excitedly to a woman dressed very non-subtly in the corner. With her black trenchcoat, and black fedora and shades, she couldn't have stood out more if she tried.

"Thanks." Mike replied shortly, threading between the tables with small smiles at all the fans beginning to recognise him, stopping in front of the corner table. "Hi."

"Aw, you Asians take the fun out of everything. Can't you all stop being so sharp for two minutes so that I may bask in my role of a secret agent?"

Holly Holliday, world-famous singer, leans back in her chair, and tips her hat back. Mike chuckles.

"I'm sorry, but as an Asian, I don't think I can let that go."

"'course you can't. You remind me of this Japanese I met once at a concert. Wouldn't take no for an answer."

Mike flushes. "I don't know what to say to that."

"You don't have to, honey bunch. Here," she handed him an envelope. "-your top secret mission details."

"I'll bet. Thanks."

"Your welcome."

* * *

"Are you serious? Holly Holliday!"

"Q, if you spill _your_ beer-"

* * *

Santana was pulling up to the shopping strip, killing the engine.

"What the hell am I doing?" She mumbled, looking around. Stepping out of the car, she held the door for the camera, reaching back inside for a pair of aviators, which she slips on. Looking straight into the screen, she asks, "What now?"

* * *

"You do look pretty badass."

"Thank you. I'm sure when they show you, you'll be a sweaty mess running from Puckerman."

"Shut up."

* * *

Santana looks up and down the sidewalk, beginning to notice a couple coming up to her. Looking uncomfortable, she ushers them towards the store, murmuring something the mic doesn't quite catch.

She ends up in a lingerie store, with brightly coloured women's underwear lining every shelf and surface. Glancing back at her camera crew, a smirk grew on her lips, as she walks deeper into the room.

"Hey, Jake, see anything you like? No, seriously. What? Red, purple?" She fingers a particularly racy set of underwear. "What about black? You look like a lace man." She winks at the camera. Her eyebrows furrow as she spots someone behind the shot. "Is she with us?"

"Santana Lopez?" A figure in a stylish fur jacket, trendy woolly hat and cashmere scarf stepped into view as the camera swung back a few steps. Santana's mouth hung open.

"Unique?"

"Well, it's nice to finally meet the girl everyone's talking about." The Mistress of the Stage offers her hand out, shaking Santana's hand.

* * *

"You met Unique Addams too?"

"Yeah, she seems pretty cool."

"Huh, she must've just come from meeting me."

* * *

"Likewise, Unique. You have no idea how many people want to see us standing next to each other; I wouldn't be surprised if people started to pair us together." Santana smirked, looking slightly distracted.

"Unique and Santana Lopez _are _two very fine ladies, I'll give them that." Unique winked, and Santana's smirk grew the tiniest bit more arrogant.

"You have something to give me?"

Unique reached into her jacket for a brown envelope. "Here you go."

"I open this?" Santana says, eyes caught on something behind her.

"Go right ahead."

* * *

"What are you even looking at?"

"The staff looked ready to throw themselves at me."

"You are so weird about your fans."

"I just don't appreciate them trying to be sneaky. Or coming in too big numbers. And you don't either."

* * *

Sugar was heading towards a playground, sitting back and texting in the interior of a limo.

"Daddy said you have to bring me around, Arthur." She looks up from her phone long enough to smile at the camera. "Arthur's my driver. Daddy says he trusts Arthur because he can drive really fast, almost as fast as a getaway driver in a bank robbery."

Sugar leaned over to open a fridge full of jelly cups. "Want one?"

"No thanks."

"Well," she says, beginning to tear one open. "-we should almost be there, I think. I smell suburbia."

"Ms Motta, we're here." The vehicle stops, and Sugar smiles, leaving her jelly behind on the seat as she clambers out.

"See what I mean? Thank you Arthur!"

"Anytime, Ms Motta."

* * *

"I told you that chick was weird."

"Did she just leave the jelly to mush on an Italian leather seat?"

"Really, Eagle Eye?"

* * *

"So the coordinates are right here, and I don't think my person is here yet." Sugar steps out of the way of a tiny kid running past her, shooting him a disinterested look. "Shouldn't he be in school?"

"He looks to be a toddler, miss." The kid couldn't have been older than two.

"And the parents haven't put him with a nanny yet? Wow, they must really love him." She stares around the park, and spots someone sitting on a bench. He is dressed in a sports coat and tie, beard fully grown on his face. There are streaks of white in them, and he sighs when he sees the cameras. "Who is that?"

* * *

"Who is that? Who is-Santana, does Sugar really not realise who she's talking about?"

"Shit, that bottle better be empty, Q. Alcohol is a bitch to get out of the carpet, remember?"

"But that's Brad! Brad Ellis! He's played with just about everyone!"

"She's eighteen, Fabray."

* * *

Sugar pouts her lips, eyes narrowing. "Wow, he's about as subtle as a knockoff in a Milan show."

Marching up to him, she smiles, offering her hand out. "Hello, I'm Sugar Motta. I'm sure it's nice to meet me."

Brad Ellis just blinks at her, raising a hand to hide a yawn as he shakes hers with the other. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out the same brown envelope the others had gotten, and hands it to her, standing up and brushing himself off. Without waiting for her to open it, he turns and walks away.

"Wow, he must not have wanted an autograph."

* * *

"How did Sylvester get a recluse to be on her show?"

"Who cares? It's Brad Ellis, San."

"…if _you_ end up drooling onto your pillow tonight, I'll know why."

* * *

As the show progresses, it shows the other players getting the same mission information and bandanas too. As onscreen Santana called up Quinn and freaked out about being chased down, Santana's phone begins to vibrate with notifications from her social networking sites. She doesn't even pause when she leans over to turn it off.

* * *

"I still find it creepy as fuck that Puckerman's first thought when he saw you was to get you eliminated."

"…I just find it petty."

* * *

Brittany kicked at the ground, obviously lost as she sat down on a bench on the sidewalk. "I give up." She states dryly, leaning her head back. "I'm really bad with directions."

She looks around, and finds no one else with her. Just a pond. "Oh, cool! Look, those are ducks!"

"What?"

"Come on, look!" Brittany laughs into the camera, pointing it at the water, where, of course, there is a duck, paddling its way across the surface. "I love ducks."

"Uh, Brittany? Shouldn't you be looking for your contact?"

"I don't know. I think I'm close, but I can't figure out where I went wrong with the map." Brittany shrugs, smirking slightly. "And my momma used to tell me that when you got lost, to stay in one place till you're found."

* * *

"Ha, the two of you would totally be the perfect match if you got together!"

"What, just because she follows her mom's instructions?"

"No, because you're such a guy sometimes – you would never admit you didn't know where you were – ouch!"

"I always know where I'm going, Fabgay. For example, I knew that I wasn't going 'straight' since before I was fifteen."

"…that was a very bad pun. But clever wordplay."

* * *

A figure looms behind her, and Brittany jumps with a squeak when its hands fall onto her shoulders. Whipping her head around, she finds Holly Holliday hunched over with laughter, resting her elbows on the back of the bench instead.

"Oh, babe. You sounded like my manager when he accidentally walked in on me changing."

Blushing, Brittany stands and offers her hand. "Brittany Pierce."

"I know who you are, sweetcheeks." She pulls Brittany in for a hug, making the younger blonde's eyes bug out. "I think what you do is admirable. Lord knows I wouldn't be able to stand all that flab around me. I hired two hunks as eye candy specifically for that reason."

"Uh, thanks, I guess." Brittany pulls away, just as Holly reaches for her envelope.

"Here."

"Thanks." Brittany opens it, catching the green bandana as it falls into her hand. "Cool! I haven't worn one of these since my mom caught me that one time on my dad's Harley."

* * *

"Ew, San. If _you_ drool tonight, I'll know exactly what you're thinking about."

* * *

Pulling out the paper, the screen splits into ten, showing everybody reading their mission details.

Everything progresses quickly after that, with all of the teams finding their members and heading to the lot.

* * *

"I like how Sam tackles Mike to the ground."

"I like to think we're the only ones qualified enough to withstand one of Trouty's hugs."

"Yeah, well. God, you dragging Rachel is so much worse on tv."

"What? I regret nothing – besides, you looked badass, playing the mediator and everything. And, still haven't forgiven Puckerman for trying to get you eliminated. Asshole."

"I did tackle him later on. Watch."

"Shit, now I wanna pee; I'm so excited. Keep my seat warm, Q."

* * *

"Oh, the trivia game was pretty fun."

"Says the person with the harmless question."

"You're just mad 'cause you looked like a creep when you got Brittany's question right."

* * *

"…As I've just explained to our dear players here, the rules for this game of Hide and Seek are simple." The camera provides an aerial shot of the entire maze, the helicam showing the furnished rooms and highlighting the areas where the binoculars are hidden.

"The green and blue teams, your mission is, once again, to find and retrieve five binoculars, and exit the maze. They have been hidden in different points of the maze, and you will have to look for them without being caught by these two."

Pointing to Santana and Quinn, the host smirks into the cameras. "As the hunters, they have bells attached to their shoes, which will serve as your only warning. Their job is simple: eliminate all the players to win."

"Oh, we plan to." Santana gave her signature smirk to the screen.

"That's the spirit! Now, because the red team won the trivia game, and Rachel is now on the blue team, Sam, you guys will enter first. Good luck!"

"Is it too late to send a prayer to Barbara?" Rachel joked, making the rest laugh.

* * *

"I have to admit, the rest really look afraid here."

"Well, you get really intense when there's something to win. I don't blame them."

"Gee, Q, I can't take all the credit."

"Why do I put up with your snark?"

* * *

There were only three seekers left in the game – Sugar, Artie, and Brittany. As the camera zoomed in to the sight of the brunette in the hole, the YouTube star looks up and begins to throw a tantrum.

"This is so unfair! Quinn Fabray cannot win this round! I hate doing penalties!" She pouted, stilling suddenly, as she listened to something. Slowly, a wicked smile rose on her lips, and she pressed a finger to her mouth, demanding quiet.

* * *

"Wait, wait. What happens?"

"Shh, I don't want to spoil the surprise."

* * *

Brittany walks down the hallway, turning to her cameraman. "Man, Quinn Fabray runs faster than my cat when I have salmon treats on the table." She begins walking backwards, tucking her hands into the back pocket of her pants. "I keep finding myself in situations where I need directions." She chuckles slightly, turning back around to wak forward.

Speeding up into a jog, she made her way down one more corridor, slowing when she sees it keeps going on. Looking over her shoulder into the camera again, she asks wryly, "Where am I going?"

The camera suddenly shifts to show the end of that hallway, as Brittany catches sight of two people. "Rachel?"

"Britta-oomph!" She manages to get out, before her cameraman stops her with a hand over her mouth. As he whispers something into her ear, Brittany leans back on her heels next to her. Rachel stops struggling and gives her a defeated look.

"Rachel?"

"She's not allowed to speak. She's been eliminated." The cameraman replies instead, and Brittany looked down the hall thoughtfully.

Rachel nods furiously.

With a grin and a wink, Brittany sets off again, this time more consciously, slinking into a crouch.

Suddenly, as she is about to round the corner, she plasters herself to the wall, her eyes wide.

* * *

"She's really competitive too, huh?"

"I don't think she even realises she's doing it."

"S, if you giggle one more time…"

* * *

Santana is sat next to Artie, breathing heavily. "Damn Manhands. She got me in the ribs when we fell."

"Are you ok?" Artie leans forward to try to catch a look at her face.

"Fine. What about you, half of T-101?"

"You cannot still tell me you didn't enjoy the Terminator movies."

"They were pretty cliché. Sarah Conner was badass though."

* * *

"You had time for conversation, San?"

"Oh shut it. You were probably taking your own sweet time with Sugar."

* * *

"How are your thighs?" Santana asks, looking at them, as Artie sighs.

"Peachy."

Santana snorted, her eyes rolling slightly. "Right. This time, sound like you mean it."

"I can't exactly take them off, can I?" Artie gesticulated incredulously.

"Sure you can. Don't worry," she crouched, straddling his legs. "-I have a strict 'no hating on paraplegics' rule."

Artie rolled his eyes. "And here I thought it was the history of our friendship that kept me alive this long."

* * *

"Were you really trying to undress Artie Abrams in front of national television?"

"…I had Rachel Berry's perfume up my nose. I decide that all actions done henceforth are all her fault."

* * *

"That too." Santana winked, rolling up his jeans. "Holy tight jeans, Batman. Why don't you just switch to spandex?"

"Excuse me if you don't agree-"

Both of them looked up when Brittany rounded the corner.

* * *

"Oh my god, I'm excited, and I know how this ends!"

"With me proving I'm amazing? Yeah, Q."

* * *

Quinn walked back into the room with the hole, her eyebrow raising when she sees a camerawoman laughing at something inside the pit.

"Kazatori?"

Sugar lifts her finger from her lips as she smirks into the camera. Giving the audience a wink, she yells, feigning hurt. "Oh my god, Quinn! I thought I was going to die alone in this pit! Help me!"

Quinn's mouth presses into a line, before she rolls her eyes. "_Now_ you have got to be kidding me."

* * *

"Quinn, do not tell me you walked towards the hole."

* * *

She walked towards the hole, looking inside with a frown. "Sugar?"

"Quinn, please. My ankle."

* * *

"Quinn, do not tell me you crouch down."

* * *

She crouches down, asking her question. "What happened?" Sugar pouts, and the camerawoman laughs even louder, but quietens when Quinn shoots her a look.

"I fell chasing you."

"No wonder I didn't hear you screaming."

* * *

"Quinn, I swear to god, you better not try to help her out."

"Will you quit the fortune-telling?"

* * *

"Let's make a deal." Sugar pouts even harder, looking bewildered.

"What deal? Can't the injured have a free pass?"

"I've seen foot injuries before – I don't think it's that bad."

* * *

"Yes, Quinn, use your eagle eyes! This is a trap!"

"I swear to god, I will kick you off this couch."

* * *

"But it hurts! It has to be twisted!" Sugar moaned, cluching her ankle as she looked up at the unmoved blonde. Changing her tactic, she threw a hand to her forehead, whining, "Oh, the agony! I see…I see my life flashing, Quinn!"

* * *

"Someone give that girl an Oscar."

"Santana…"

* * *

Chuckling slightly, Quinn leaned further over the hole. "If you agree to my deal, I'll help you. Just say yes."

"Fine..." Sugar says, rolling her eyes. "What is it?"

"You give me your binoculars."

"No!"

"Are you alright?" Quinn gripped the edge, as Sugar winced slightly.

"You obviously weren't listening." Sugar scowled, massaging her ankle. "Fine. Only if you don't pull any funny stuff."

"Honey, if I was a comedian, I'd be doing stand-up with Gabriel Iglesias."

* * *

"Oh shit, Q."

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I preferred it when you were sitting down."

* * *

Stretching a hand out, Quinn tutted when Sugar reached for it. "Binoculars."

"Really? I might have dislocated my joint, and you're worried I'll short-change you?"

Quinn just smirks deviously. "You'll live. Besides, I grew up with Santana Lopez, remember?"

Sugar rolled her eyes, pulling the binoculars off from around her neck. "Here."

* * *

"Yes! I take full credit for teaching you things!"

"I learnt nothing good from you."

* * *

Adding the binoculars to her neck, she stuck her hand out again. "Thank you. Now grab my hand." She invites, leaning forward a bit more. Sugar reaches up, and pulls.

* * *

"Oh my god, Q. I called that! I told you it was a trap!"

"Isn't it a little too late for this?"

* * *

Gasping, Quinn falls on her knees in the pit, looking up just in time to watch as Sugar pulls on the bandana, tugging it away from her wrist.

* * *

"Shit, Q, did Sugar just…?"

"Yeah. I thought I was dead right then and there. But shh. I wanna see what happens with you and Brittany."

* * *

"Brittany." Santana's eyes wide, as she stood.

"Hey." Brittany says, obviously taking in the scene in front of her. Meanwhile, Artie stopped moving, looking between the two women with frightened eyes.

"Hey." Santana says back. "What are you doing here?"

"Just looking. You know, Sugar has a pair, Quinn has one, Artie has another, and you one more."

"I take it you want mine?" Santana crossed her arms, accurately judging the situation.

"If you don't mind."

* * *

"That is some serious sexual tension right there."

"I know!"

* * *

"Are you willing to fight for it?" Santana tilted her head, as Brittany mirrored the action. "If I give mine to you, will you do me a favour first?"

"I'll think about it."

"Well, if we fight and you win, you'll have a pair of binoculars, but you'll still have to deal with me, _and_ Artie over there." Laying it out for the blonde, Santana thumbed over to the boy trying not to draw attention to himself. "See, he's the last member of the blue team, and you'll still have to race against him to find the last pair, and then to the exit."

Smirking wider, she continues, as Brittany fidgets on her feet. "The way I see it, you'll have to face me either way, and wouldn't it just be easier to take him out first? Because then you wouldn't have to worry about someone else finding the danged things before you do."

A pause, as Brittany bit her bottom lip, glancing between Santana and Artie contemplatively.

* * *

"You're good."

"I felt bad about it for a bit."

* * *

"Let's say…" She shuffles a step closer, as she trails off. Santana mirrors the movement restlessly.

Over the short distance, Santana catches her eye, a smirk curling her lips.

"Sorry, Artie."

* * *

Quinn was staring at Sugar in shock, her mouth hanging open slightly.

"No one said I couldn't." Sugar played with the scarf, wrapping it around her finger, Her smirk was so wide, beyond pleased with herself, obviously.

"But she can't, can she?" Quinn asks, looking up into the cameras.

"We'll have to wait for the announcement. Hang on."

* * *

"Oh damn, Fabray, your face!"

"Shut up, I was legitimately scared."

* * *

Brittany had jumped on top of Artie, pulling him into an armlock even as he yells, "You can have it-come on, stop-I'll give it to you!" As he squirms, Santana pounces, working the coloured cloth from his bicep. "Yield! Truce! White flag!"

Santana began to celebrate, dacncing as Brittany loosens her hold, gently setting Artie down.

"Didn't I tell you I would give it to you? What, did you want it in some foreign language?" He slouches over his thighs, huffing.

"Sorry, Artie." Brittany whispers, pulling the binoculars free. Artie shakes his head.

"It's ok. It's that girl, the one dancing like a kooky duck that needs to apologise."

"Hey!" Santana scowled. "I regret nothing. And in case you forgot, it's my job to eliminate you."

"Artie, out! Artie, out!"

* * *

A hand from behind the camera extends itself for the red cloth in Sugar's hand, as both stars stare up at the cameraman behind it. "Yeah?"

A pause, as he pulls the cloth from the brunette.

* * *

"Man, if I didn't know you were going to win, I'd be shitting my pants about now."

* * *

"Hunters can't be eliminated."

Quinn jumps on Sugar, ignoring her yelp. As she pokes her sharply in the side, the cloth finally comes free, and Quinn waves it triumphantly.

"Sugar, out! Sugar, out!"

* * *

"Whoo, Q!"

"Santana…can't. Breathe!"

* * *

"Sugar, out! Sugar, out!"

Santana stood back as Artie was helped up by his cameraman, a soft smile on her face as the boy winks at her. "Go get 'er, Snixx."

Santana shrugs, as she focuses on Brittany. Smirking teasingly, she taunts the blonde. "You know how difficult this is going to be, right?"

"I'll take my chances." Brittany shrugs, as she watches Santana step closer.

"Really? Because I think you need to have a little discussion with Snixx about that."

"Snixx?" Brittany laughs, her eyes disbelieving but soft. Her tongue darting out to wet her lips, she covered her mouth with her hand when Santana frowns. "I'm sorry. I really am, it's just…god." She steps forward, dropping it in favour of reaching out instead. "Did anyone ever tell you how cute you are?"

* * *

"Oh my god, did she just tell you you were cute?"

"Stop shaking me, damnit!"

* * *

"W-what?" Santana stuttered, looking completely caught off-guard. "I-I mean. Um. Don't think flattery will get you any-anywhere." Brittany took another step forward, Santana's eyes darting down with the movement.

Brittany was staring at the latina intensely, eyes narrowed and smirk deep. "I think that it's gotten me close enough."

* * *

"Jump her bones, Brittany!"

"Fabray!"

* * *

Brittany launches herself at the smaller woman, knocking them both onto the floor, her legs straddling her waist. Immediately her hands reached for the binoculars, while Santana was in shock. Recovering quickly, she caught her wrist, narrowing her eyes.

"Not so fast, Britt." She says, flipping them over, pinning Brittany's hands to the ground as the cameras struggle to get a good angle. Reaching in between them, Santana began working the knot at her hips, just as Brittany bucked up, forcing Santana to fall on her with a high squeal.

"Ready to give up?" Brittany panted, reaching around her neck to pull at the knots of the binoculars. Santana made a noise, pulling the hand away and forcing it back down, catching the blonde's gaze.

"Bad Brittany." She scolds, working the knot again, not realising that Brittany's hand had reached behind her again, as she bucked once more.

Santana choked as she fell, sliding sideways off the blonde, as the binoculars came free.

"Shit!" Santana cursed, but when she looked down at herself, she grinned.

"Brittany, out! Brittany, out!"

* * *

"Holy shit, San."

"You cursing? Maybe you've had to much alcohol."

"You totally gave her The Look."

"What look? I don't give any looks."

"You so did! The 'I'm-Going-To-Get-Into-Your-Pants' Look!

"How would you even _know_ how that looked like?"

"Please, if _that_ was just the prelude of The Look, I'd rather not know."

* * *

The camera focused on Sam he trudged out of the maze with the other contestants, laughing at something Mike was saying. "Yeah, but imagine Santana in Final Fantasy. Or as Commander Shepard."

"No way, Quinn would make a better Shepard."

"You're on. Mass Effect marathon? My place?"

"I'm going to kick your ass." Mike jokes, punching him in the shoulder, as he catches sight of the camera. "This boy has just challenged Mike Chang to a session of Mass Effect."

"Which I will win." Sam asserted, smiling at the camera. "Anything is less scary than having one of those two jumping you."

They both turned when they heard applause; in the background, both hunters were clapping their hands for the seekers. Sam grinned as they all formed a loose semi-circle around Mercedes, who was waiting for them.

"Welcome back, guys." Mercedes greets them, the scene shifting to a controlled shot of the cast as a whole. "I would go on, but Santana seems to be otherwise preoccupied."

Quinn leaned in to whisper into the latina's ear, who jumps slightly as her eyes dart around before landing on the host.

"Well, now that everyone's listening…" The cast laughs, as Santana merely rolls her eyes in reply. "It's clear that the hunters won this round, so give them a clap, everyone!"

As everyone clapped, the camera focused on Santana and Quinn, who both took the applause graciously.

On a cue, the two of them walked over to the host, who was standing in front of a covered table. "As the winners of our first Hide and Seek game, I present to you two, four tickets to an all-expenses paid trip on Sue Sylvester's premiere cruise ship – the _Robin_!'

* * *

"Sam wanted in on that, by the way."

"Why don't you bring him?"

"Why would I bring seafood onto a cruise? The chef might mistake him for a grouper, and then we'd all be in trouble."

* * *

Santana turned to hug Quinn, as the cast gasped and moaned in jealousy. Slowly, they began to clap, and Quinn laughed as Santana yelled into her ear, jumping up and down.

"Shoo, shoo." Mercedes shooed them away, and they stumbled back to their spots, giddy and excited. "Alright, y'all. Don't think I've forgotten the rest of you – and that means the green and blue teams both, except for Rachel."

"All this build-up could make a guy grow a beard." Puck comments off-handedly, and Finn snorts so loudly that everyone else gets started again, laughing and giving him disbelieving looks.

"I gurantee that you won't be laughing after this." Mercedes smirks, pulling off the cloth on the table, and revealing rows of neon-coloured hotpants. "Those of you who don't have Rachel's immunity, and lost the last challenge, pick a pair that flatters your skin tone the most, because you'll be spending an hour on Hollywood Boulevard taking pictures with tourists."

As the cast took in this revelation, Santana, Quinn and Rachel began laughing so hard, Quinn had to muffle her giggles in Santana's shoulder. Puck, Artie, Mike and Brittany were guffawing along with them, leaving the unamused to their disbelief and whining. Finn had narrowed his eyes as he mumbled colour choices under his breath.

Mercedes rolled her eyes at the cast, turning around as she comments wryly. "And here I thought you wouldn't be laughing."

* * *

"Fuck yes, Q. Did you set the recorder up?"

"And risk you rampaging because we lost blackmail material?"

"Ah, I knew you appreciated the depth of our friendship."

* * *

The camera followed a bus as it stopped in front of Hollywood Boulevard. Tourists were rife, and the crowds were so thick, chock-full of locals and cameras that it was almost hard to navigate. The bus's windows were tinted so heavily that you couldn't see inside even if you stood right up to them.

As the doors open, the passengers file out, immediately catching the crowd's attention. It didn't help that out of nowhere, police officers and staff began setting up barricades, providing crowd control in a matter of minutes.

Artie was out first, unashamed because while the neon red pants were short, all everyone was going to see were the straps around his thighs, before they met the prosthetics. Besides, he kind of enjoyed the breeze, despite the blush riding high on his cheeks.

Waving slightly at the people stopping as they recognised him, he was quickly joined by Finn and Puck, both who drew larger crowds immediately. Amidst the shrieking that was building, Sugar popped out then, pushing past them, as Mike and Sam filed out after her, both blushing terribly. A jaunty soundtrack began to play as Brittany slipped out last, the bus doors immediately closing as she lingered at the back of the group.

* * *

"Oh my dear god, why is Puckerman wearing pink?"

"The question is, why is Finn wearing yellow."

"Sugar actually pulls off orange."

"But Sam is murder on the eyes in that green."

"Let's both agree that Mike looks good in those purple ones."

"His abs do look good."

"What colour is Brittany wearing?"

"Perv."

* * *

As they begin to disperse towards the crowd, Sugar turns to the camera, her best smile on her face. "I think I actually look good in these."

"Yeah, had to wear that shade in prison. Totally clashed with my skin colour." Puck called, smirking at a tween girl who asked to take a picture with him.

"Dude, these things are tight." Finn comments, wincing as he autographs someone's shirt.

"I have a whole new respect for girls." Mike says, posing and showing off his muscled thighs for the fans in front of him.

"I feel like I'm back in my old job again!" Sam laughs, showing off his teeth in an embarrassed smile for a shot with an older woman. A breeze obviously pushed through the Boulevard, making all the stars shiver in their loose shirts and short pants.

The camera shifts to Brittany, who looks completely at ease with the amount of skin showing, bouncing over in a light blue pair of hotpants to the nearest barricade, where boys were reaching out to hold her hand or come closer so they could leer. She took it with grace, talking to the camera as she signs autographs.

"I think we've all learnt the moral of this story." Shaking hands with a teen girl with green streaks in her hair, she paused to take a picture with her, before continuing with a deliberate wink.

"Next time, win."

* * *

"Why do I have the feeling you're going to be replaying this second for hours tonight?"

"Shut your face, Q."

* * *

The scene shifts to Mercedes again, back in the opening room, leant back in her chair.

"Well folks, that's the end of today's ride! Now, you've seen the contestants, and you've gotten to see them as never before." Mercedes smirks, reaching down to pick up the Golden Lungs. "If you want to see them again on your tv screens, you have to give us the ratings, and in return, we'll give you the power."

"_You_ get to decide who wins the trophy." Mercedes pauses for a moment, leaning forward. "Every week, we'll open a poll till midnight the next week, the night before the next episode airs. Now, your stars will be unable to see the results of this poll, and so will you, but you gotta vote for who you think should win this. Our show has been promised five episodes by Sue, so at the end of the fifth episode, the player you've chosen will be awarded the ultimate prize."

Setting the tophy down again, the host stands up to deliver the ending speech.

"So really y'all. Vote for who you think is best, and thank you for tuning in. We'll see you next time."

* * *

Santana stretched out on the couch, ignoring Quinn's protests as her arm knocked her in the head. "Man, that was intense." She says, watching as the credits roll across the screen. Reaching forward, she grasps the remote to turn the appliance off, settling back once she was done. Quinn nods, her head falling onto Santana's shoulder as she exhales, thinking.

"I didn't know there was gonna be a popularity poll."

"Hey, you just gotta be entertaining." Santana smirks, pushing into her slightly. "And you gotta admit, we were kinda the main characters in this episode. Maybe that'll help us in the next few weeks."

"Yeah, but there's only one trophy." Quinn reminds her, straightening again.

"Whatever." Santana rolls her eyes. "If one of us wins it, it'll be going onto the trophy shelf anyway." Lazily, she points towards the shelf right in front of them, decorated with the numerous trophies and certificates and awards they had. Of course, those were locked up tight, and only they had access to the keys.

"Whatever." Quinn shrugs, a sly gleam coming into her eye as she leaned back. "Are we going to talk about it?"

"About what?"

Quinn rolls her eyes. "About you and Brittany, duh."

Santana colored, as she scowled. "Shut it."

* * *

A/N: And that covers my disastrous attempt at trying to write out someone watching a tv show! Honestly, this chapter was really difficult to write, because of continuity and stuff. But you tell me if it worked, because sometimes I just really wanna write about other characters in story, really try and juggle all the different relationships and bring them out, but I'm hoping this time it actually worked. So drop me a review, tell me if you want another one of these viewings for the next episode of Glee!

Also: Don't fret, the next update should be up soon, because I'm working on it right now, and whoo. Planning gameshows is hard.

As always, I love you readers, please drop a review if you want, and my PM box is always open to chat and questions.

Have a great week/month/year/life:)


	11. Santana: 1, Brittany: 1

Santana blinked at the message she had gotten from a blocked number, jarred from her light nap on the couch. Yawning, she stretched out slightly, eyes swiveling around in an attempt to get her bearings. She was extremely tired from the the week, having had work and all those other things on her mind.

Blinking, she swiped her thumb over the message, opening it, even as her gaze searched for her roommate, slightly curious.

She didn't seem to be at home, and for the first time, Santana notices how dark it is. Hadn't it just been noon? But no, the stiffness in her bones tells her differently.

"Goddamnit, I wasted a day." She muttered, rubbing at her eyes as she read the text.

_Pick any number between 60 and 240._

Confused, Santana checked the time stamp, and found it to be from two hours ago. Concerned, she thought about it, and figured really quickly that it was from Glee.

A weird anxiety grows in her chest, the nerves beating in her stomach. Did she miss the taping somehow? Breathing in deep, she types back the first number she could think of – 99 – and waited for something to happen.

The doorbell rang then, the ducks quacking as loud and jarring as they were every single time. Santana wondered who it could have been, but decides to stand up anyway, going to get the door with sleep-heavy bones.

"Did you forget your keys or something?" She leans on the frame, having swung the door open to reveal her roommate, struggling with a load of groceries. Easily, she catches a paper bag just as it falls from her fingers. "And why do we need tuna?"

"I had a craving. And does it look like I can get in the door with these?"

"Whoa, you ok? You sound like someone put rancid vinegar in your mouth."

"It's just…Glee." Quinn huffs, moving past Santana and setting her armload onto the kitchen island. "Did you even check your tweets today?"

"Why would I? I hate the thing."

"Good." She rests a minute with her arms on the marble top, before looking up and offering her a wry smile. "It's just that because of the show, I was nearly thrown out of the grocery store."

"Why?" Santana asked, grabbing items out of the paper bags to put away.

"I was mobbed, I tell you. Mobbed!" Quinn threw her hands up, as she turned to lean against the island. "All I did was walk into the store to pick up a basket, and these girls come up from nowhere to ask for autographs. So I gave it to them, you know, because it's never a bad thing." She glances at Santana, who hums as she places eggs into the fridge. "And then as I'm putting things into the basket, it happens again, first at the apple counter, then the frozen meat."

"You bought bacon? Again?" Santana's eyes widen, as she scrambles through the mess of bags on the counter, pulling out the pack. "Quinn, really? Your trainer is going to kill you if she hears about this."

"Shut up. I've had a craving for that too."

"Yeah, for the entirety of your life, you pig-murderer." Santana mutters, putting that into the fridge too. Heck, she couldn't care less what Quinn bought and ate – it was just that she was always so possessive of her damn bacon! Sensing a rebuke, Santana quickly changed the subject. "And then?"

"And then apparently someone tweeted about it, because suddenly this huge wave of fans swarm me in the cereal aisle – while I was getting you your stupid Lucky Charms, by the way."

Santana couldn't muster up the energy to be happy for her favourite cereal ever, not when she saw how frustrated her friend was. Rolling her eyes, she leant up onto the counter next to her, crossing her arms. "So what's the problem? You love your fans."

"I do." Quinn concedes, dropping her head to rest on Santana's shoulder, who relaxes enough to wrap an arm around her friend. "It's just…I'm overwhelmed, that's all. I didn't think I wouldn't be able to go grocery shopping without being tailed, is all. God, and the pictures!" She stood, pointing to herself. "Judy would kill me if she saw them."

"You and I both know we couldn't give two fucks about what Judy thinks." Santana scoffs. "And you look fine; what's wrong with what you're wearing?" Santana sometimes thought that Quinn over-dressed, always too ready for a papparazzi shoot. "Anyone else would be proud to be Yale-educated."

"Yeah, but not a Yale drop-out." Quinn rolled her eyes, tucking her hands into her pockets. "But whatever, I'm fine. I still love my fans. Wait," Quinn says, surveying the house. "-did you sleep the _entire_ day?"

"I was tired." Santana shrugged, guiltless. Raising an eyebrow, she returned to her previous task of putting the groceries away, finishing them up as she spoke. "And don't give me that look – if you hadn't wanted me sleeping, you would have woken me up. Speaking of, did you get a text?"

"From Glee? Yeah."

"What number did you give?" Santana glanced at Quinn, who was padding over to the couch.

"200. What did you?"

"99." Santana wandered over to join her friend, pulling her phone out of her pocket to tap on it worriedly. "Wonder what it could be for."

Quinn shrugged, as she pulled her own phone out to ponder it. "Well, it could just be a way to group us the next time. You know, following chronological order."

"I don't think that's it. Why wouldn't they just make us pick between 1 and 8, then?"

"Too easy?" Quinn bit her bottom lip.

Santana re-read the message again, and gave it a bit of thought. "But why sixty?"

"I guess we're just going to have to wait to find out." Quinn sighed. A thought comes to Santana, making her laugh, and Quinn giving her a raised eyebrow.

"Holy shit, I bet you ten bucks that Puckerman chose 69."

* * *

Santana loved sleeping. More than anything else, she loved laying down on her huge bed, and sleeping in till two, and then pestering her best friend to make her something, even if she couldn't cook for the life of her.

Which was why when her phone made a noise at 8 am, Santana ignored it and tried to get back to sleep.

"Stupid ringtone." She mumbled, hating the catchy song bursting from her speakers.

When it finally died out, she sighed happily, ignoring the light spilling in past her curtains, and burrowing deeper into her blankets. A muted thump coming from the room next to hers didn't even phase her – Quinn had probably just thrown her own phone at a wall.

Which was why she didn't appreciate it when said blonde bursts into her room, breathing heavily. "San! San, you gotta wake up and get dressed!"

"Fuck." Santana dragged out heavily, barely moving. "Why?"

"We're late, Santana! We're late for the taping!"

"I don't work on Sundays."

"Santana!" Quinn marches right up to her friend's mattress, pulling at the bedsheets. "I'm serious! Glee sent us a text an hour ago! We're the only ones not there yet!"

"What?" That wakes her up, sending her sprawling off her bed when Quinn pulls particularly hard. "Shit!"

"So come on, and get dressed!" Quinn yells, even as she dashes back into her room to change herself. Santana's entire body was set to scrambling, as she clambers across her bed to get to her closet, flinging it open and picking the first two things she could see to wear.

Getting dressed quickly, she dashes back to her side table, grabbing her phone and checking it. How had she slept through all the texts?

Her eyebrows furrow, as she sees only one message from the show, time-stamped only a minute ago. Opening it, she reads the message, and a string of profanities leave her mouth, all of them culminating in one sentence.

"I'm going to fucking kill you, Quinn Fabray!"

* * *

Quinn still couldn't stop laughing, and that was after Santana had hit her with her own pillow three different times and changed into a different outfit properly and gotten into the car. She sat next to her right now, held back by her seatbelt, and curled into herself because of the amount of giggling she was doing.

"Oh my god, your face! It was priceless!"

"I swear to god Fabray, I will murder you one of these days. Slowly. And I'll enjoy every minute of it." She mutters, driving down the roads that will take them to where the text had told them to go.

"But I'm serious! And you even fell trying to get your leg into your pants!" She chortled, heaving to take a breath. "What? Shit!" She mimicked Santana's tone, crossing her arms around her body.

"Quinn." Santana hissed through gritted teeth. God, stupid Quinn Fabray and her stupid-ass pranks. "If you don't stop right now, I will stop this car and you will be walking the rest of the way."

"Aw, San, I'm sorry." The blonde finally quietens, putting a hand on the woman's arm. "I just got the text, and I knew it was going to be hard to wake you up, so I improvised."

"Because you couldn't just shake me like a normal person." The latina snorts, stopping at a red light. "Bitch."

"You and I both know you wouldn't get up that way." Quinn shrinks back, slightly hurt, and sighs. "Come on, I'm sorry."

Santana glances over, and lets out a low exhale. "You're lucky you're buying me breakfast."

"I am?" She echoes, and then smiles placatingly when Santana glares. "Alright, alright, I am." She laughs a little, before pointing to the right. "There's that café we met at last week by the bookstore down this way. You wanna get something from there?"

Santana brightens, feeling her mood change as she remembers Kurt. "Yeah, sure. Great idea."

As the light turns green, Santana begins to drive again, speaking without looking at her passenger. "You excited for today's taping?"

"Nervous, yeah. I do not like the look of that penalty."

"Right." Santana laughs, thinking of Brittany in those hotpants. "Well, it didn't look too bad."

"You're just saying that because you totally perved on Brittany's legs."

"What, a woman can't look?"

"No, but a woman who looks should be brave enough to at least talk to her." Quinn rolls her eyes, poking her friend's arm. "When are you going to at least say hi?"

"Soon, alright?" Santana states, rolling her own eyes at her patheticness. "I just don't know how."

"What? Just turn on the Lopez charm, because I'm honestly beginning to freak out over this version of you." When all Santana did was scrunch up her nose, Quinn rolled her eyes. "You know what I'm talking about. You're going soft."

"Am not." Santana scoffed, irritation creeping into her tone. Quinn snickered inwardly.

"In fact, I'd say you were sometimes, positively, _cute_."

"Am not!" Santana exclaimed, a hand flinging itself at Quinn. Yelping, Quinn tried to dodge out of the way, but still got hit on her arm. "I'm about as cute as a tiger."

"Yeah, yeah." Quinn rubbed the aching spot, looking out the window to hide her smirk. "You're also easier to wind up." Spotting their location, she grinned. "There it is." Reaching a hand out to point at it, Quinn checked the time on her phone. "We have enough time for a take-away. Wanna get everyone else something while we're here?"

"You text them." She paused for a minute, pulling up in front of the store. "We should all exchange numbers today – it'll make it easier to do things like this."

"Or get closer to a certain someone." Quinn waggled her eyebrows, ducking out of the car with a wry chuckle before Santana could get to her. Reaching back into the car, she rolled her eyes easily at her friend, as she rifled through the glove compartment for the extra pair of sunglasses her friend kept in there. "Seriously though. You gotta promise me."

"I'm not promising you anything, Fabgay." Santana snorted, picking up her own pair as she slid out of her seat. "And besides, why would I do it with you? What are you, my fairy god-Melissa Eltheridge or something?"

"I'm just looking out for you." The blonde says, slamming her door shut as Santana does the same on the other side. "And I'm pretty sure she's interested in getting to know you." She idly adds, waiting for Santana to join her before heading into the café, which was thankfully empty, due to the early hour and day.

"God, you're so mushy." Santana gripes, walking through the door. She bites her lips for a second as they walk up to the counter, and then turns to her friend again. "What makes you think that?"

Quinn stifled a laugh, as she pulls out her phone, sending a mass-text to the boys in her band, and Sam and Mercedes and Rachel, the only people she had the numbers of. Adding an extra note to pass it on to Brittany and Mike, Quinn set it back into her pocket as Santana stares anxiously at the side of her head.

"Soft." She repeats her earlier sentiment, enjoying her friend's scowl. "What do you want?"

"Besides to punch you?" Santana glared, turning to the counter and finding the very person that had lifted her spirits before. "Oh my god, thank Batman you're working, Kurt." Santana sighed loudly. "This is Quinn Fabgay."

"Oh." Kurt's mouth hung open, as he stood staring at the blonde next to her. Quinn glanced at Santana from behind her shades, and turns back to Kurt.

"Hey, nice to meet you. And it's Fabray."

"Likewise. And I know." He shakes her hand for a moment, before shaking himself out of it. "I'm sorry, you must get this all the time." He laughs a bit jerkily. "It's just so surreal – I was watching Glee last night with my boyfriend, and we were both watching you, on our screens, and he said that Santana your boobs looked amazing in that robe, and I was totally agreeing and oh my god I'm rambling."

Santana had to suppress her laughter, and when she looked over at her friend, she saw her doing the same. Flipping her aviators up, she looked him in the eye, smiling. "It's cool. You're not as bad as Rachel Berry."

"Oh my god, yes, you guys know Rachel Berry."

"You're a fan?" Quinn asks, finding him amusing.

"Yes. Ever since her Broadway debut, with her insipiring backstory, how could I not? Of course, she does talk a lot, and maybe she could tone down her diva aura a bit, but otherwise, her voice is flawless!"

"Well, I'll be sure to pass it along." Santana chuckled. "You didn't seem to be this flustered when you helped me last week."

Kurt quickly recovers, hiding a cough behind his fist. "To be fair, I didn't know it was you. Your aviators completely hid your identity."

"That is the point of wearing them, yes." Santana jokes, as Quinn feels her phone vibrate with multiple texts. "Is that them?"

"Yeah." Quinn looks up from her phone, and glances at Kurt. "Are you up for a massive order?"

"For customers? That is what my boss is paying me for, yes." Kurt replies, obviously having calmed down a little. "Hit me." He says, picking up a marker.

As Quinn rattled off the orders, Santana thought about their previous conversation right before this one. She obviously wanted to get to know the blonde, but only if she didn't trip on her words half the time, or forgot them the other half.

Sighing hard, she pulls on her fingers in frustration. Why was she such a pussy around Brittany Susan Pierce?

"…and Santana, you want anything?"

"Yeah, a black coffee. As strong as you can make it." Santana looked at the pastry display, and prodded Quinn in the side. "Hey, you still owe me breakfast."

"Oh, right." Quinn narrowed her eyes, as she stared at the rows of muffins and other breads. "One of those lime, smiley face donuts, please."

"Fabgay, you're suppose to be buying _me_ breakfast."

"It is for you." Quinn smirked, winking to Kurt, who suddenly becomes very preoccupied with his job, smiling wide.

"Really? It better be good then." Santana scoffed as she settles into a seat close by the counter.

"It has to be. The smiley face gurantees it." Quinn settles opposite to her. "So I'm guessing Kurt is one of the reasons you were so happy to come here?"

"He's cool." Santana shrugs, rolling her eyes. "Although he dresses as though Ken and Elvis had a baby, and then that baby had a lovechild with Elton John, you can't tell me you don't like him."

Quinn laughs. "I like your hat, Kurt!" She shoots to the man behind the counter, who can clearly hear them, and definitely had a great sense of humour, because he was only rolling his eyes at Santana, and actually curtsied for Quinn.

"You're totally avoiding my question, though." Santana's voice instantly lowers, as she glances around the completely empty café for eavesdroppers. "Why do you think Brittany might be into me?"

Quinn raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. "We were watching the same show last night, right? The same two people tussling in the maze, right?"

Santana sighs exasperatedly. "But is she interested in me? I can't tell. I thought she was, I mean, I think she was flirting, and I think I was flirting back, but oh my god I sound like a fifth-grader." She covered her face with her hands. "Why do you do me like you do, Brittany Susan Pierce?"

Snickering at her friend, Quinn leaned back to enjoy her little meltdown. "Look, just start with a hello."

"I'm getting advice from a straight white girl. Dear lord, what has my life come to."

"You really don't check your tweets, do you?" Quinn snorted, pulling out her phone again, bringing up the popular social networking site. "Check out what's trending."

"'Catsringingdoorbells'?"

"Underneath that."

"'Glee'?"

"Will you look down?"

"'Quinntana4OTP'? Wait, what?"

Quinn scowled, raising an eyebrow. "Under that."

Santana's eyes bugged out. "'BrittanaMazeMoment'?" Not waiting for her friend to say anything, Santana clicked on the hashtag, which brought her to a page of tweets. "Holy sweet hell, this many people think I should have got it on with Brittany onscreen?"

"That many people can see the sexual tension, yeah." Quinn started when Kurt came by, juggling four cups of coffee in each hand. "Thanks Kurt."

Setting them down on the table, Kurt leaned back on his heels, grabbing the last cup and a paper bag and placing that in front of Santana, who barely looked up, too busy reading some of the very graphic tweets people had written.

"Ew, one guy wanted me to dry hump Brittany. Look, he even put it in haiku."

"The joy of 140 characters." Quinn mused dryly, standing to settle the payment.

"Sorry, I couldn't help but overhear the conversation," Kurt began, taking her card and swiping it through the reader. "-small place."

Quinn's eyes narrowed. "You said you watched last night's episode?"

"Yeah." Kurt nodded, completing the payment. "And I have to say, those two did look two seconds away from jumping each other."

"You don't have to tell me." Quinn rolled her eyes, glancing back to see Santana still stalking the tweets, looking extremely fascinated. "She's the most stubborn person I know."

"I can tell. Hey, I wrote Brittany Pierce's name on her cup. Was that alright?" Kurt smiled, seeing the idea form in the blonde's head too.

"I think it's more than alright."

* * *

"You have got to stop thinking of those things." Quinn rolled her eyes at Santana, who ignored her as she pulled up into the makeshift parking lot. Like last time, they had been tasked to report to a lot just outside of the city, the white tent erected and imposing in the bright morning sun. Crew members and people dressed in white were running around, setting up equipment or bringing them in. Santana killed the engine, leaning back in her seat.

"You shouldn't have shown them to me then. I have that one really weird song stuck in my head now."

"Well, don't. If I have to do the penalty today because of you, wearing hotpants is the least of your problems."

"Threats already? I really am rubbing off on you, Quinnie-boo."

"None of your finer traits, I see." Quinn said dryly, flipping her sunglasses over her eyes. Opening the door, she grabbed the take-out trays, scowling when Santana takes the other, her own cup already in her hand. "I can do it."

"Take the pastry bag." Santana says, slamming her door shut with her hip and locking her car. Quinn rolled her eyes as she began to make her way to the tent, Santana falling in step with her. Looking down at the cups she was holding, she realised that Kurt had written everyone's names on their orders. Mentally thanking the barista for his thoughtfulness, Santana sipped from her own drink, loving the bitterness as it slipped down her throat.

"Wait a second." She mumbled suddenly, counting the number of cups they had properly for the first time since getting them. "Ten?"

"Yeah, Sam had Mike's number, who had Brittany's." Quinn shrugged. "Apparently Sam and Mike really hit it off last week; they hung out this week, remember?"

"Sam did say something about it…" Santana trailed off, remembering an afternoon spent listening to Sam raging about a Mass Effect marathon, which led to Santana glaring at him for romancing Liara instead of Jack.

Ducking under the tent's flap, Santana realised that they were the last to arrive. The tent was still full of filiming equipment, but it looked more like a storage space than an actual set. The cast were milling around in little groups this time, talking politely to each other, getting comfortable with one another. It struck Santana again, that some of these people, she hadn't even met before last week, but she had had felt no awkwardness arise with them because of that fact. The way they looked now, it seemed as though they were more a group of friends at a reunion, than a group of celebrities forced together to participate in a gameshow.

The chemistry was just that good.

It was hot in the tent, and as Santana and Quinn approached the group, she said so. "Damn, Wheezy, can't we do this outside or something?"

The others all looked up in unison, smiles growing on their faces when they saw the coffee. Mercedes chuckled, walking over with the rest to retrieve her order. Picking her cup out of the tray, she took a sip, waiting for Santana to hand out the rest in her hand. "We were just waiting for you two. Could you have driven any slower, Satan?"

"It could have been Quinn driving, for all you know." Santana snorted, tossing the empty tray into a convenient trash bin next to her. Said blonde wandered up next to her, handing her another cup.

"Brittany didn't pick up her order. Why don't you pass it to her?" Quinn said, pressing it into her palm before she could protest. "And here, your donut."

"Thanks Fabray." She said, draining her own drink, feeling Brittany's cup warm her hand. "Where is she?"

"She had to clean up before. Wandered off to the Porta Potty, last I checked. But we can wait for her outside." Mercedes said, turning around and clapping her hands once. "Listen up people. Let's take this outside, alright? I don't want my makeup melting off my face in this heat."

The rest tittered in reply, walking out along with Santana and Quinn, following the host to a clear spot with the tent in the background. From here, Santana could see a structure somewhere in the distance, a building of some sorts. She had no idea what it could have been for, and was not really looking forward to finding out.

A few cameras were already rolling, a trio of crew members manning their stations. As she walked past, she spotted Marley at the back of one of them, and smirked, catching her attention.

"Haven't run screaming for the woods yet?" Santana asked, slowing next to her. The brunette bit her bottom lip, rocking on her heels.

"Well, I really need this job. So I guess we're stuck together."

"Still, crappy way to spend a morning, isn't it?" Santana said, smirking even more when she heard Rachel chatting with Puck, who looked about ready to run. "Especially if you have to deal with that."

"Rachel's alright." Marley shrugged. "Oh!" She said, as though just realising something. "I think Tina needs to see you and Quinn – she's touched up just about everyone else."

"Where is Other Chang, anyway?" Santana made a face, turning. "I needs ta repencil my eyebrows ons."

"She was in the tent, last I saw." Marley shrugged again, just as Santana's attention was stolen by the sight of two of the people she was looking for coming round the corner.

"…so I ran." Tina laughed, a hand pulling her makeup bag behind her. "So I think I beat your worst date ever."

"That's insane!" Brittany giggled, bouncing slightly as she walked, her eyes bright and blue in the morning sun. "I've never committed arson on my first date!"

"Not yet, you haven't." Tina joked, looking up and spotting Santana, who raised an eyebrow at her. "Santana! I was just looking for you! Where's Quinn?"

Thumbing behind her, she shared a glance with Marley, who waved her away. Santana walked up to the two of them, trying to control her breath and steps.

_Alright, Lopez, be cool. Just say hi, and give her her drink. That's it. Say hi, and…_

"Is that for me?" Brittany asked, when she was close enough. Grinning, she reached a hand out, taking it from her with a wink. "Thank you so much!"

Santana flushed, looking down suddenly. Her heart was in her throat, and she could still feel the tingles in her fingers from where they had brushed against hers. "H-hi."

_Stuttering? Damnit, Lopez, you pussy._

"Hi Santana." She says, waiting and not leaving even when Tina reaches down to set up her mini-dresser. Santana dared a glance up, and found Brittany staring at her intesnely, taking a drink of her coffee. "Where's yours?"

"Oh, um. I finished mine already." Trying to regain her composure, she cleared her throat. "Don't worry, that one has your name on it."

"I know." Brittany says, making a big show of pointing to it. "It's written right here, silly."

"Right, of course." Santana blinks, turning to Tina to distract herself. "Seriously, Other Chang, do I need your help?"

"Calm down, Santana." Tina rolls her eyes, waving a powder brush haphazardly. "You just need a bit of blush. Trust me, I'm glad you and Quinn are the only ones left."

Santana bit her lip, all too aware of Brittany's presence next to her, as Tina picked up on her conversation from before. "So, Britt, you sure you don't want a bit more eyeliner?"

"Positive. I don't want too much and look goth. I'm as white as a pastry – it'll just make me look like someone punched me in the face."

"I don't think you'd look bad." The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, and her eyes widened, as she realised that they had. Her fingers immediately began playing with each other, as she tried to dig herself out of the situation. "I mean, not like that would automatically make you look bad, or anything. I mean, you're so pretty, so I don't think that would matter, because it doesn't, and I think you'd look pretty even if you tried not to, like with clown makeup or something and dear god please stop me by saying something because this is really embarrassing." Santana covered her face with her hands, simultaneously wishing that Quinn was here to stop her verbal vomit, and wanting to kill her for putting her into this position.

Brittany giggled, making Santana look at her through the gaps in her fingers, her pale hand covering her mouth as the first hints of a blush tinged her cheeks. "Well, thank you, Santana." She calmed down, eyes sparkling prettily as she looked the latina in the eye. "I don't think anyone's ever told me I'm pretty so many times in one go."

Ignoring Tina's amused chuckle as she tugged at Santana's wrists so she could apply the makeup, Santana flushed even harder as she coaxed a smile onto her face. "Why not? I mean, it's true." She shrugged, trying to play it off, because oh my god, she was seriously planning to murder Fabray in her sleep.

"Alright, Santana, you're done. Just let me go check in with Quinn, then I think you guys need to head over to the rest so they can start. Oh, and here's your mic."

Santana offered the Asian a nod, realising too late that that left her with Brittany alone, away from the rest. Stalling for time, she tried to think of conversation starters as she clipped the tiny microphone to her collar, the receiver to her belt. Turning back to the blonde, she was surprised to find that she was still staring at Santana with interest. "What? Is there something on my face?"

Brittany shook her head, as she looked away. "Nothing. It's just…" She turned back to watch her again. "You're really pretty too."

A fluttering began at the back of her heart, and made heat rush to cheeks even harder than before. Coughing, she couldn't resist the smile forming on her face, as she bashfully held her gaze. "Um, thank you." She replies, their stare not breaking for a few moments, till Brittany coughed and took a sip of her drink.

Deciding that it'd be weird to just stare at the blonde – she had never been so close before – Santana tried to steer the conversation to safer waters, before Brittany reduced her to a nervous mess. "So what do you think they're gonna make us do? The numbers seem to have some sort of significance."

"I thought that too." Brittany said, her eyes narrowing as cradled her coffee. "Sixty is such an odd number."

"Yeah, I thought so too. Quinn thought it might be a grouping thing."

"It could be, but I don't think so." She shrugged. "It could be a timing, or something. There's sixty seconds in a minute, and sixty minutes in an hour."

Santana thought about it, and realised she did have a point. "Huh. You're right. It could be." Santana said, looking at Brittany in thoughtful awe, wondering how on earth she got to that point.

"Lord Tubbington used to peddle watches to neighbourhood cats. Then I caught him, and he stopped, but he never got over his obsession with clocks."

The deadpan way she said it would have made Santana confused, but it was the lightness in her eyes that let her know that she was joking. So she laughed, not catching the delighted surprise in the other woman's eyes.

"Interesting cat." Santana nodded, reaching into her bag to pull out her breakfast donut. She was hungry, and the coffee had woken her up enough to want to eat. She doesn't miss the way Brittany eyes her donut, an odd edge in the curve of her lips. "Um, Q bought me breakfast. You want half?"

"Oh, no, I couldn't." Brittany immediately refuses, waving her hands uselessly, one still preoccupied with her cup. "It's yours."

"No, it's fine. It has a smiley face on it. I feel my appetite going already."

"No, really." Brittany says, but Santana just continues to hold it out. "Are you sure?"

"Like I'm sure it's a miracle there's still pigs alive in the world because Quinn seems to be eating them all." Santana rolled her eyes, softening into a smile when Brittany reaches out to tear a piece off. "Oh, come on. I never pegged you for the polite eating type."

"'Polite eating'?" Brittany raised an eyebrow, confused. "What's that?"

Smirking, Santana carefully halved the pastry, giving the slightly bigger half to her. "Not doing _that_."

Brittany rolled her eyes. "I just thought it'd be rude to-"

"I told you, it's fine."

"-the contestants on my show if I pig out while they sweat." Brittany smirks, as Santana blushes again. "But thank you, again."

"You don't have to keep saying that, you know." Catching her adorably confused look, Santana clears her throat. "Thanking me. It's fine."

Before anyone could say anything else, Mercedes calls them over. "Satan, Brittany! We're starting!"

Santana took a bite of her pastry, liking the lime flavoured jelly on the top. As she walked over to join them, Brittany fell into step beside her, their arms brushing and sending tingles up Santana's body. She tried to not look over, though, keeping her gaze forward despite everything in her wanting to see the blonde's face.

"Finally." Mercedes huffed, facing her cast as Santana squeezed in between Quinn and Sam who stood at the end, Brittany falling in a step beside her. Idly, Santana held out her half of breakfast, offering it to her best friend, who pinched a bite from it, not bothering to take it from her hand. "We're rolling in a second, so just play along, alright?"

When everyone nodded, Mercedes madea gesture to someone next to her, who lifted a clapboard and began the countdown. Next to her, Brittany took another gulp of her drink, happily chewing on her mouthful of donut.

(Santana hadn't realised just how tall the fitness host was.)

"Hello, and welcome again to another exciting episode of Glee! Before we begin, we'd just like to thank all you viewers for tuning in last week – the numbers were off the chart, and our cast truly appreciated the support! Speaking of, let's let them say hi, why don't we?" Turning to face them, she winked, as they all waved at the cameras, unsure of what to do. "So, guys. What did you guys think of last week?"

"Quinn wouldn't stop whining about her muscles." Santana spoke up really quickly, ignoring the protest from beside her, as she took another bite of her pastry. "It must be because she was so out of shape."

The cast laughed, as Quinn grew red, a blush hot on her cheeks. "Well, at least I didn't spill my beer when I found out Sam had some comic on his wall!"

"Which brings me to ask, Trouty Mouth, what on earth made you think it was alright to make a scan of my comic and not tell me?" Santana leaned forward, talking past Brittany, who took a half-step back.

"I bought that online!" Sam held his hands up, pouting when Santana scoffed. "I'm serious! It's been signed by the writers!"

"Right. You're never borrowing my comics ever again."

"Wait, Santana, you read comics?" Mike asks, stepping out of line to make eye contact with her. Santana's eyes widen, as she straightens.

"What? I need my daily dose of lady-lovin'." She mutters, stuffing the rest of her donut in her mouth. When it looked like no one else was going to say anything, Santana rolled her eyes. "Don't give me that look. Rachel was reading _50 Shades of Grey_!"

"I was not!" The brunette bursts out, but her red cheeks said otherwsie. As the cast snickered and exchanged glances, Rachel stared at Santana. "And where did you hear that?"

"Here and there. And also, that not-really cryptic tweet about taking out chains."

"I was talking about the ones on my bikes!"

"Sure you were." Santana smirked, even as Brittany elbowed her. Looking up quizzically, she found a pout on the blonde's face. "What?"

"That was mean." Brittany said simply. "Don't mind her, Rachel. It's alright even if bike chains are unsanitary. You washed them first, right? They'd stain your bedsheets."

Santana cracked up while Rachel huffed indignantly, everyone else stifling their own laughter.

"Laugh while you can, but I have actually been readying myself for today's competition." Rachel decrees, crossing her arms imperiously.

"Really? So where'd you hide your stilts? Or are you planning to ask Finn to carry you around on his shoulders so you can see the top of everyone's heads-"

"Santana." When Santana looks up, she sees Brittany's eyes stormy and decidedly _not_ happy. "Apologise."

"What did I do? I'm just pointing out the fact that the Hobbit would need help to reach the height requirements that'll be her passport out of the Shire-"

"Santana."

Something in Santana curdles then, and she decides she never wants to see Brittany mad at her again. Or pouting. Ignoring the butterflies in her stomach, Santana coughed, as she leaned forward, wondering when the hell she lost every single one ounce of cool she owned.

"I'm sorry, Berry."

"Why, Santana, I've never heard you say that before-"

"That you'll probably never grow anymore!" Santana adds on, ducking behind Quinn, who yelps and tries really hard not to spill whatever's left of her coffee.

"Santana!"

"San!" Her best friend reaches back, grabbing a fistful of Santana's hair and pulling her back in front. "There are cameras!"

"What? They'll edit it out!"

"No we won't, Satan." Mercedes cackled, as everyone else watched in awe and disbelief. "Serves you right."

"Alright, alright, ow!" Santana yelped, rubbing her scalp. "My hair is_ not_ a weave, bitch!"

"Then behave yourself!" Quinn hissed, leaning in close. "Or you're on your own today."

"Alright, seeing as how Lopez insists on hogging all the screentime today, why don't we move on?" Puck yells loudly, as an eyebrow cocked. "I'm especially looking forward to seeing what penalty she and Fabray have to do when they lose today."

"Do you really think it'll be that easy?" Sam spoke up, sharing a grin with Quinn, who just rolled her eyes. Santana was still too busy hiding behind her friend and not looking at Brittany. To be honest, she was beginning to feel bad about ragging on Manhands.

_Great. So now I'm a jerk too. Way to go, loser._

"I think we've seen last week how crazy they are in a team together." Artie chuckled, as Finn joined in the conversation too.

"If it's individual, we all have a shot guys."

"I'll show the audience my abs if you'll tell us they're not on the same team." Mike offered.

"So just tell us what the task is, Mercedes. I'm ready to show off my Sugar-shine." Sugar did a little jiggy as everyone gave her a weird look.

"Alright, alright. Your tasks today are in that building behind us." Pointing to the structure Santana had spotted before, Mercedes began to explain. "You'll be split up into groups again today, and as a team, your ultimate goal is to leave."

"Wait, what?" Mike asked, scratching the back of his head. "You mean we'll be trapped in there?"

"You'll have to do the penalty in there, yes."

"Do we get a hint of what it is?" Rachel asks, staring at the building.

"Of course not." Mercedes smirked. "First, groupings!"

"I call dibs on Q!" Santana raised a hand, as everyone else's eyes widened.

Quinn, on the other hand, scoffed. "No thank you. I don't have enough coffee in me to deal with you today." She smirks, as Santana feigned offence.

"Fabray, I'm appalled!" Santana swooned. "You'll leave your oldest friend behind in the dust?"

"Alright, the two of you!" Mercedes said past a laugh. "That's enough of that. We've already decided for you."

"Free country, my ass." Puck coughed, crossed his arms.

"Anyway!" Mercedes continued threateningly. "First group, Rachel, Sam, Puck, Quinn, you're the CEOs."

"Wait, there's a theme? Awesome!" Sam exclaimed, high-fiving Quinn as they shuffled over to form a little circle separate of the group.

"Yes, we get Quinn!" Puck placed a hand on her shoulder, making her sidestep cleanly to avoid it, hiding her face behind her cup.

"We keep getting paired up, you and I." Rachel commented, as Quinn grimaced slightly. _Dear Lord_, she thought, looking over her little group. _Let me keep my patience_.

Somehow, Sam and Puck had gotten into a playful scuffle, with Puck held in a headlock by the shaggy-haired blonde. At the same time, Rachel was doing a few jump-squats to psych herself up. Inwardly, Quinn sighed, finishing off her coffee.

_Or my sanity._

Meanwhile, Santana barely glanced over, as her heartbeat thudded in her ears. Brittany had shuffled in closer to accommodate for the space, and now they were standing so close that their arms pressed up against each other. Brittany was just wearing a tank top and some dark tights, which meant that there was a _lot_ of exposed skin to be pressed up against.

Holy warm skin, Batman.

"Second group, you're the workers! Sugar, Mike, and Finn." Mercedes called out, directing them to stand further away. "And that leaves us with Brittany, Santana and Artie!"

"Why do I get the feeling I won't like what we are?" Artie remarked airily as he walked over to join the two women.

Mercedes waved a hand. "Please. Being the janitors aren't that bad."

Santana had to resist the urge to facepalm. Cursing in Spanish, she glared over at the rest, who were laughing at their expense.

Brittany, on the other hand, was enjoying the role play, sharing a laugh with Artie, who apparently found it funny too. The only person who looked remotely disturbed by the notion of it was Santana, who smirked humourlessly as she raised a hand. "I declare this to be completely racist, on terms of my ethnicity. And surpassing my own brand of racism towards Asian 1 over there, and Other Chang." She thumbed over to Mike, who gave her a weird look. "I call you that in my head." A pause. "Sometimes."

"Oh suck it up, Santana. It was based on the numbers you all picked, anyway."

"Are you going to explain that?" Quinn asked, tucking a hand into a back pocket of her fitted pants. "Or are we going to just have to find out later on?"

"You both know how to take the fun out of a show." Mercedes rolled her eyes. "For now, all of you have to get changed into the costumes we have for you, and then we'll meet back at the building. Go, shoo!"

"And, main camera, cut!" Someone called out from behind the cameras, and everyone began to relax. Santana, on the other hand, sighed, as she made to walk over to her best friend, who was already searching for her amongst the group.

Before she could, however, a very warm and soft hand caught her wrist. "Uh…" Santana trailed off, realising that it was Brittany, and she wasn't really sure how to react now. The blonde was biting down on her bottom lip, and she wasn't too sure if that meant Brittany was nervous, or something else she didn't want to linger on.

"Santana, wait." Brittany started, stepping closer to her, her other hand fidgeting with the cup still in her hand. "Please don't be mad at me."

Santana's nose scrunched, as she tried to focus on what Brittany was saying, instead of the warmth still wrapped around her wrist. "About what, Brittany?"

"I don't know." Brittany's eyes darted away, before coming back to lock with hers. "I think I might have overstepped my boundaries before. When I made you apologise to Rachel."

"Oh, that." Santana made a face, wondering how on earth that made Brittany think she was mad at her. Embarrassed, sure. But mad? "It wasn't a big deal."

"Still. I'm sorry." Brittany bit her lips, giving Santana a look that nearly melted her. "I shouldn't have done that on camera."

Scuffing the toe of her shoe against the ground, Santana shrugged. "Don't be. I'm…honestly, I'm sorry too. I realise I might have taken it too far."

"It _was_ pretty mean of you." Brittany said, making Santana smirk up at her incredulously.

"Go back to being sorry." She said, laughing when Brittany did, grinning at her. "But seriously though. Don't be sorry for things like that." Not breaking eye contact, she slowly rotated her wrist, moving her hand to grasp her palm. "I sometimes need someone to yell at me to remember how to be nice."

"Well, let's both agree to be sorry here." Brittany said, bashfully swinging their hands together. At the motion, Santana couldn't help but play along, giggling slightly. She nodded at the blonde. "But you still gotta be nice to Rachel." Brittany threatened, knocking their clasped hands against Santana's hip.

"Ok, ok. I'll try." Santana rolled her eyes.

"Pinky promise?"

And with anyone else, Santana would have scoffed and called them a fifth-grader, but with Brittany, she couldn't help but intertwine their pinkies, repeating an oath she and Quinn used to make all the time. "Pinky promise."

"Good." Brittany smiled, dropping their hands, but not their pinkies. "So we're janitors, huh?"

"God, I'd nearly forgotten about that." Santana scoffed, slumping her shoulders slightly. "If they make me clean anything, I will hunt them down and shove those mops up where the sun don't shine."

Brittany couldn't resist her laughter, tugging Santana into walking with her, headed towards the tent, where everyone else had already congregated to figure out sizes. "I don't think it'd be anything that bad. It wouldn't make for good tv."

"Yeah, well. It would, the way Quinn does it." Santana snorted. "She's like a horde of Mexican maids on her own."

"Really? You guys room together, right?"

"Yeah, but we sleep separately, duh. Quinn says I kick. Well, she snores." Santana squints. "Actually, it's more of a spatial issue."

"How so?"

"Quinn has this thing about cleanliness, like I said. Everything is really elegant and vintage and clean." Santana rolled her eyes. "Me, as long as the important stuff aren't being stepped on, I'm cool."

"And what's important?" Brittany held the flap back for her, as she stepped through, Santana tugging lightly on their still interlocked pinkies.

"My bed." Santana chuckled, threading carefully amongst the wires. "Q can't believe how little I have in my bedroom."

"So where do you keep your comics?" Brittany asked, a sly grin on her face, and Santana nearly stumbles over a cable.

Blushing, she eyes Brittany with wide eyes, embarrassed about her hobby. "Uh."

Brittany just laughs, clearly not expecting an answer. "I'm teasing." As they join the rest in the cleared space at the back of the tent, she leans in to whisper into Santana's ear. "You can just show me next time."

Santana blushes even harder at that, as Brittany's warm breath hits the shell of her ear, making her shiver. Later, she will punch herself for being so obvious, but right now, with Brittany leaning back with that bright look in her eyes, she can't help but feel anything more than bashful.

(Not that she'd ever admit that to anyone.)

Clearing her throat, she catches Sam's eyebrow waggle from over Brittany's shoulder, and she immediately searched for a distraction. "We should probably get changed."

"Yeah, we should." Brittany winked, slowly releasing their pinkies as someone calls for her from beyond them. "Bet you'd look sexy even in a uniform."

Santana nearly faceplants.


End file.
